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SMITH'S  BARN 

WORCESTER 

PROFILES  OF 
PERTINENT  PEOPLE 


R.  M.  WASHBUBN 


DATE  DUE                         1 

UNIVERSITY  OF  MASSACHUSETTS 
LIBRARY 


F 
W9W35 


Ul: 


TO 

"US  FELLERS" 

MONARCHS  AND  MANIKINS 


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Chdlie. 
Scene  near  Smith's  barn.     One  of  ''tis  fellers. 
See  page  1 '(■'>. 


SMITH'S  BARN 


"A  Child's  History" 

of 

The  West  Side 
Worcester 

1880-1923 


By 
R.  M.  WASHBURN 

Former  9mle  Representative 

Former  State  Senator 

Founder  of  The  Roosevelt  Club 

Biographer  of  Calvin  Coolidge 

Author  of  The  Mirrors  of  Hamilton 


Printed  by 

The  Commonwealth  Psrss 

Worcester 

Exclusive  Distributors 

Davis  &  Banisteb,  Ihc. 

Slater  BIdg.,  Worcester 

1923 


Copyrighted,  1923, 

by  Robert  M.  Washburn,  Boston 

(All  rights  reserved) 


In  Justification? 

Long  away  from  home  and  its  records,  some  are  not  here  who 
belong.  There  may  be  inaccuracies.  Some  are  mishandled. 
All  this  is  unavoidable.  Further,  to  eliminate  personalities  is  to 
become  anemic.  An  attempt  is  made  to  sail  between  Scylla  and 
Chary bdis  and  in  the  middle  of  the  current.  When  any  one  is 
played  with,  always  gently,  his  virtues  at  the  same  time  are 
emphasized  by  way  of  antidote,  so  that  he  is  perhaps  a  net 
gainer.  Some  are  fortunate  to  be  recognized.  It  has  been 
wisely  said: — "I  don't  care  what  you  say  about  me  if  you  say 
something."  Pre-eminence  is  given  to  the  picturesque  on  the 
West  Side.  An  attempt  is  made  to  stir  all  the  emotions,  from 
the  innocent  amusement  of  the  portraits  upon  the  cover  and 
in  the  frontispiece  through  interesting  facts  to  the  pathos  of  the 
finale.    These  are  wide  contrasts,  the  tonic  of  life. 

Since  going  to  press,  the  crime  of  removing  Smith's  barn  has 
finally  been  fixed  on  one  Ewell.  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to 
add  that  he  is  a  Yale  man.  Some  one  once  asked  a  Yale  grad- 
uate why,  of  two  boys,  the  crude  material  was  sent  to  Yale 
and  the  other  to  Harvard.  He  replied: — '*I  have  a  harder 
question.  Why,  when  they  have  graduated,  does  the  crude  at 
Yale  become  refined  and  the  other  at  Harvard  hopeless?"  Ewell 
is  said  to  be  a  doctor,  whether  of  philosophy,  science,  medicine 
or  a  veterinarian,  it  has  been  impossible — down  here — to  deter- 
mine. His  tracks  have  been  well  covered.  Why  the  son-in-law 
of  a  church  deacon  removed  this  sacred  structure  will  forever 
remain  an  enigma.     For  stables  stand  high  in  the  scriptures. 

This  does  not  pretend  to  be  a  history  in  its  usual  interpreta- 
tion. Some  are  deliberately  passed  by  who  would  belong  in  a 
history  of  the  United  States.  With  one  exception,  the  house  of 
Washburn  is  eliminated,  for  unavoidable  reasons,  except  in 
its  early  close  entwinement  with  the  house  of  Smith.  Inciden- 
tally, thus  is  eliminated  a  suspicion  of  bias,  and  assured  an  at- 
mosphere of  modesty  unlike  the  G.  A.  R.  veteran,  who,  reciting 
his  service  in  the  60's  at  a  family  gathering,  provoked  this 
question  from  one  of  the  children: — "Gramper,  couldn't  you 


get  any  one  to  help  yer?"  The  portrait  on  the  cover  is  of  the 
author  by  ColHer  and  endorsed  and  used  by  the  first  Repubhcan 
paper  in  Massachusetts.  Perhaps  it  is  too  easily  identified. 
There  is  but  one  other  illustration  because  there  is  nothing 
extant  fit  to  qualify  with  it,  except  possibly  a  portrait  of  the 
child  Thayer  in  his  peculiar  pants,  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
connoisseur.  There  is  no  chapter  13,  out  of  respect  to  the  un- 
reasonably timid. 

This  is  "a  child's  history"  so  that  they  who  run  may  read. 
Some  who  read  may  run.  Again,  this  is  unavoidable.  Unhappi- 
ly in  its  praise  it  is  almost  a  slobber-fest.  In  this  way  it  is 
personally  disappointing  but  a  psychological  experiment. 
Because  of  its  sweetness  it  might  have  been  published  anony- 
mously without  a  suspicion  of  the  author.  Intimately,  its 
saccharine  safety  has  been  developed  under  the  influence  of  a 
partner  from  the  South,  where  women  talk  softly  and  musically 
and  use  their  noses  for  purposes  other  than  for  conversation. 
Those  who  love  and  expect  to  see  the  great  raked  will  find  few 
oases  and  a  liability  for  libel  strangely  reduced  to  a  minimum. 
They  will  expect  to  be  refunded  the  purchase  price.  They  will 
forget  that  it  might  have  been  greater.  Some  with  the  grit 
which  brought  Peary  to  the  Pole  may  push  on  to  the  end. 
Then  perhaps  is  it  justified. 

A  large  part  of  chapter  one  was  printed  in  The  Gazette  in 
May  last.  This  provoked  a  magnanimous  interest  which  has 
led  to  this  little  book.  This  would  have  been  impossible, 
because  of  its  limited  market,  without  the  efficient,  generous 
and  appreciated  co-operation  of  The  Commonwealth  Press, 
for  the  printing,  and  Davis  and  Banister,  Inc.,  for  its  exclusive 
distribution.  "Made  in  Worcester"  is  the  spirit  of  Smith's 
barn.  Readers,  if  any,  are  earnestly  urged  to  freely  send  to  the 
address  below  any  comments,  even  abusive  marked  of  course 
confidential,  which  they  may  be  willing  to  make,  including  a 
notation  of  possible  inaccuracies,  omissions  or  amendments, 
for  another  edition  or  a  volume  two  is  a  possibility. 

236  Bay  State  Road,  R.  M.  W. 

Boston,  April,  1923. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter    1.    The  Capitol 9 

Chapter    2.    Her  Right  Arm      15 

Chapter    3.  Montagues  and  Capulets.  The  Champs  Elysee    20 

Chapter    4.    Mr.  Washburn 30 

Chapter    5.    The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 43 

Chapter    6.    Others  of  the  Anointed 52 

Chapter    7.    Primers,  Primaries  and  Polish 69 

Chapter    8.    Blue  and  Red  Ribbons 75 

Chapter    9.  Out  Doors  and  In  Doors.    "Cold  Blast"  and 

Champagne 86 

Chapter  10.  Two  Schools,  Merriman  and  Cristy   ....  105 

Chapter  11.    Along  the  Potomac      120 

Chapter  12.    Stars,  Gold  and  Silver 130 

Chapter  14.  The  Weak  Links  of  the  Seven  Immortals   .  136 

Chapter  15.    The  Smith  Salon 137 


CHAPTER  I 

The  Capitol 

Smith's  barn  which  for  more  than  fifty  years  has 
stood  practically  in  the  rear  of  what  is  now  36  Elm 
street  is  now  gone  and  with  it  a  mass  of  memories. 
To  us  fellers  of  the  early  Eighties  it  was  the  centre 
and  Capitol  of  that  part  of  Worcester  then  known  as 
the  West  Side.  In  those  illiterate  days  a  barn  held 
all  kinds  of  live  stock,  but  with  the  evolution  of  educa- 
tion it  is  now  strictly  construed  to  hold  cattle  only, 
while  horses  where  they  exist  are  reserved  for  stables. 

First  for  the  setting.  In  those  days  running  east 
from  Linden  to  Chestnut  streets  were  but  four 
houses.  On  the  corner  of  Linden  street  stood  the 
Peter  C.  Bacon  house.  Then  came  the  cottage  of 
Clarendon  Harris  with  a  much  talked  of  garden 
behind  it  where  Washburn  hens  dug  up  Harris  seeds. 
Then  came  the  long  narrow  high  Washburn  house 
without  an  empty  room.  Here  when  a  window  was 
closed  hastily  a  child's  arm  was  in  jeopardy.  Then 
came  a  driveway  to  the  Washburn  barn  where  now 
is  36  Elm  street.  Then  came  the  Smith  driveway 
where  now  is  34  Elm  street.  Then  on  a  large  tract 
of  land  for  those  days  stood  the  Smith  homestead, 
now  a  temple  of  music  as  it  was  somewhat  in  those 
days. 

9 


SMITH'S    BARN 

The  population  of  the  Smith  and  Washburn 
famihes  stood  at  eleven  boys  and  three  girls.  When 
a  boy  was  born,  it  was  a  matter  of  such  common 
interest  as  to  provoke  no  comment,  that  is  favorable. 
When  a  girl  arrived,  the  news  was  generally  good  for 
a  front  page  in  the  old  Worcester  Spy  and  the 
neighbors  took  hope.  This  paper  was  owned  and 
edited  by  the  Baldwins,  one  of  whom  had  sat  in 
Congress,  and  it  is  still  remembered  tenderly  for  it 
looked  upon  the  old  settlers  with  respect.  A  kinsman 
of  this  family  who  has  attained  distinction  is  Ralph 
Earle,  a  Rear-Admiral. 

Charles  Worcester  Smith  and  Josephine  Caroline 
Smith,  his  wife,  were  essentially  hospitable.  Their 
philosophy  in  her  words  was: — "Keep  on  going.'' 
This  they  did.  Their  house  was  open  at  all  times 
to  the  young.  Generosity  and  patience  were  among 
their  great  qualities.  The  first  two  outdoor  interests 
of  Mr.  Smith  were  his  horses  and  his  flowers.  He 
was  often  seen  in  his  garden  along  the  Elm  street 
fence.  He  stood  for  peace  among  the  children  of  the 
neighborhood  and  once,  when  called  upon  to  assume 
a  mandate,  philosophically  observed : — 

"  Why  ring  the  bells  and  get  out  the  towns-people  f 

Mrs.  Smith  was  a  landmark.  She  was  tireless.  She 
always  forgot  herself  and  always  remembered  her 
children  and  their  friends.  As  a  mother,  she  was 
a  symbol  of  love.    Every  Sunday  their  old  Victoria 

10 


SMITH'S    BARN 

with  an  additional  inside  seat  for  the  children  was 
filled,  arms  and  legs  protruding,  and  the  whole 
family  with  luncheon  baskets  went  out  into  the 
country  for  the  day.  This  insured  a  day  of  rest  and 
quiet  for  the  neighbors,  if  not  for  them.  The  children 
were  unique  in  that  all  of  them  excelled  in  some  one 
specialty,  some  of  them  in  business  and  some  of  them 
in  sports,  the  latter  of  which  concern  more  particular- 
ly this  child's  history. 

Smith's  wooden  barn,  when  it  was  built  and  for 
some  years  afterward,  was  the  best  barn  in  Worcester 
and  held  the  best  horses  to  be  found  in  the  town  in 
those  days.  Among  these  will  be  remembered 
"Cub,"  essentially  a  family  horse.  Another  was  a 
high-strung  chestnut,  the  best  road  horse  in  Worces- 
ter county,  then  owned  by  Charles  Worcester  Smith, 
Jr.  Another  particularly  good  road  horse  was  a  bay 
Kentucky  mare,  called  *'The  Maid."  Harry  Wor- 
cester Smith  there  kept  a  light  weight  brown  horse 
of  splendid  show  action,  although  his  great  achieve- 
ments in  the  show  ring  and  on  the  race-track  were 
made  later  from  his  estate  at  Lordvale.  He  deserves 
several  pages  of  his  own  which  he  will  get.  Inciden- 
tally, Charles  Martin  Thayer,  who  was  then  an 
obscure  citizen,  he  had  not  struck  his  stride,  often 
parked  in  that  barn  a  weird  three  wheel  velocipede 
which  he  alone  could  ride  on  an  even  keel.  It  was 
a  wise  purchase  for  him,  for  it  was  seldom  interfered 
with. 

11 


SMITH'S    BARN 

The  personnel  of  the  Hve-stock  in  the  barn  could 
not  have  been  more  varied.  Here  lived  Harry  Smith's 
great  greyhounds,  notably,  "Friday  Night,"  "Moth- 
er Demdike"  and  "Honor  Bright";  the  first  an 
American  champion.  On  the  second  story  were 
pigeons,  an  eagle,  a  family  of  rabbits,  one  or  two 
goats,  and  a  monkey,  who  once  showed  his  affection 
for  one  of  the  small  girls  of  the  neighborhood  by 
biting  a  piece  out  of  her  cheek.  This  had  not  been 
the  only  casualty  of  that  vicinage,  for  in  earlier  years 
a  dog  of  Peter  C.  Bacon,  named  Fido  of  course,  had 
bitten  little  Link  Kinnicutt  on  his  back  piazza. 
The  dog  may  not  have  been  mad.  Little  Link  was. 
A  great  editor  once  instructed  his  men: — "When  a 
dog  bites  a  man,  it  is  not  news — When  a  man  bites 
a  dog,  it  is  news."  For  which  reason  the  Kinnicutt 
casualty,  which  ought  to  be  perpetuated  in  a  child's 
history,  was  deliberately  eliminated  from  A  History 
of  the  United  States  by  George  Bancroft.  To  go 
back,  in  the  cellar  of  Smith's  barn  were  a  number  of 
pigs  which  did  not  appeal  for  close  communion  to  the 
ultra  refined  and  somewhere  on  the  premises  a  pony. 
The  Smith  family  were  ever  considerate  of  the  sen- 
sibilities of  the  neighbors  and  when  one  of  these, 
immediately  to  the  South  and  troubled  by  the  goat, 
asked  that  he  be  disposed  of,  this  was  immediately 
done,  that  is,  to  the  Washburns,  when  he  was 
tethered  on  the  westerly  instead  of  the  easterly  side 
of  the  fence,  a  net  gain  for  the  neighbor  of  perhaps 

12 


SMITH'S    BARN 

six  feet,  but  which  handicapped  Httle  the  social 
procHvities  of  the  goat. 

A  cupola  upon  the  top  of  the  barn  was  a  court  of 
last  resort,  a  sanctuary  for  those  children  in  the 
whole  block  uncomfortably  trailed  by  crippled 
parents.  On  this  cupola  was  a  weather-vane,  general- 
ly indicating  squalls  not  in  the  air  but  on  the  ground. 
It  was  a  gilded  horse,  long  riderless  and  riddled  with 
buck  shot  from  profane  hands.  Of  the  children, 
Chetwood  Smith  struck  his  best  field  gait  later 
elsewhere  with  his  well-known  beagles.  With  these 
he  showed  himself  to  be  a  Smith.  Enough.  Having 
then  appeared  late  upon  the  scene,  he  was  proud  in 
the  possession  of  a  bantam  and  quite  content.  It  was 
his  daily  custom  to  approach  the  fence,  which  was 
wisely  picketed  and  which  separated  the  Washburn 
family,  and  deliver  a  daily  bulletin : — 

"Going  to  hill  bantam^  mawday,'' 

meaning,  doubtless,  tomorrow.  Those  were  great 
days  for  those  of  us  who  are  now  walking  into  the 
evening  of  life  but  who  still  retain  perhaps  the 
faculty  of  memory  in  some  degree. 

Smith's  barn  should  never  have  been  torn  down. 
It  should  have  been  removed  to  the  center  of  the 
Common  and  there  restored  as  a  reminder  of  the 
activities  of  a  family,  which,  while  it  made  its  mark 
in  business,  was  also  a  great  outdoor  family;  and  as 
a    constant    stimulation    to    future    generations    to 

13 


SMITH'S    BARN 

continue  the  stiflf  pace  which  was  first  set  in  Wor- 
cester by  the  Smiths. 

Smith's  barn  thus  restored  should  have  borne  a 
simple  plate  and  the  laconic  inscription,  the  spur  of 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith: — 

"Keep  on  going,'' 


14 


CHAPTER  2 

Her  Right  Arm 

These  intimate  memories  were  originally  stirred 
when  Smith's  barn  was  razed  to  the  ground  in  the 
spring  of  1922.  This  was  done  without  becoming 
ceremony  thereby  almost  an  act  of  vandalism.  For 
Smith's  barn  had  stood  for  more  than  fifty  years 
approximately  in  the  rear  of  what  is  now  36  Elm 
street.  There  was  more  inspiration  in  its  shadow  to 
those  who  truly  live  than  in  the  now  opened  view 
to  the  hills  of  Holy  Cross.  It  has  however  given 
way  to  an  age  where  the  material  charms  of  the 
green  grass  which  grows  over  its  foundations,  and 
space,  supersede  the  spur  of  tradition.  The  memories 
provoked  by  this  transition  would  stir  the  most  le- 
thargic mind  and  pen. 

In  the  early  Eighties,  a  wire  from  South  x\merica 
from  a  business  agent  of  the  father  of  one  of  the  boys 
who  played  about  Smith's  barn  laconically  read : — 

"Have  shipped  hvelve  monkeys.'' 
This  wire  struck  with  terror  their  patient  mothers. 
Childless  and  open-minded  neighbors  to  whom 
crowing  cocks  had  already  brought  insomnia  were 
clear  that  there  were  already  among  them  monkeys 
enough.  They  had  read  of  shipping  coals  to  New- 
castle.   God  is  often  good  they  agreed  when  later  all 

15 


SMITH'S     BARN 

these  monkeys  died  en  route.    Further,  one  monkey 
already  dwelt  in  Smith's  barn. 

On  Wednesday  afternoons  when  school  did  not 
''keep"  in  those  days,  the  boys  about  Smith's 
barn  were  dragged  under  duress  to  a  dancing  class 
in  Insurance  Hall.  Here  Patrick  H.  Reilly,  a  Pro- 
fessor duly  accredited  pursuant  to  the  custom  of  the 
times,  presided,  who  later  under  the  stress  of  threat- 
ened competition  metamorphosed  himself  into  P. 
Harvard  Reilly,  in  the  same  manner  in  which  he 
might  have  advantageously  become  in  the  state  of 
Connecticut  P.  Yale  Reilly.  In  high  recognition  of 
spasmodic  virtue,  the  boys  were  at  times  allowed  to 
dance  with  the  daughter  of  P.  Harvard  Reilly,  known 
always  simply  as  "Julia."  She  was  looked  upon  by 
us  as  the  traveller  over  the  sands  of  the  desert 
hungers  for  an  oasis.  It  was  however  with  less 
difficulty  that  a  small  boy  rested  his  hand  upon  the 
waist  of  Julia  than  for  him  to  attempt  to  circumlocute 
it  with  his  arm.  Thus  was  danced  "the  heel  and  toe 
polka,"  a  puritan  predecessor  of  the  profane  jazz 
waltz,  before  a  gallery  of  matrons  quick  to  note  our 
slightest  lapse.  Even  then  the  demon  love  had 
fastened  his  cruel  finger-nails  into  the  epidermes 
of  these  little  innocents.  A  young  woman  of  seven, 
pursued  by  two  admirers  and  having  a  distinct 
preference  for  one,  showed  her  mature  business  sense 
by  prevailing  upon  the  other  to  retire  from  the  field 
upon  the   payment  by  her  to  him  of  twenty-eight 

16 


SMITH'S    BARN 

cents,  strong  evidence  of  her  affection  for  the  survivor 
and  the  noble  nature  of  his  predecessor  who  retired. 
To  go  back,  it  must  be  confessed  at  this  late  day  with 
some  shame  by  the  boys  that  on  Wednesday  after- 
noons the  monkey  who  dwelt  in  Smith's  barn  was 
happily  for  him  left  to  his  own  resources.  He  did 
not  attend  the  dancing  class  of  P.  Harvard  Reilly, 
this,  perhaps,  because  he  was  less  in  need  of  a  training 
in  deportment  than  some  of  the  boys  who  were  led 
there.  This  is  strong  praise  of  the  monkey,  if  not  of 
the  boys,  who  were  then  uncomfortably  encased  in 
tight  black  "pants"  and  patent  leather  slippers. 
For  no  one  then  wore  trousers,  not  even  our  fathers. 
The  memories  of  Smith's  barn  itself  can  not  be 
properly  shaped  to  a  climax  without  mention  of 
James  Hall.  He  lives  now  in  a  peace  which  he  has 
richly  earned,  a  landscape  gardener  on  Piedmont 
street.  In  1883,  James  Hall  became  the  Duke  of 
the  Domain  at  Smith's  barn.  It  was  then  replete  in 
full  operation,  twenty-four  hours  a  day,  at  the  peak 
of  its  pride.  James  Hall  immediately  became  a  true 
and  cheerful  symbol  of  the  policy  of  the  self -forgetting 
mother  of  the  Smiths: — "Keep  on  going."  Her 
feet  never  tired  in  some  unselfish  cause.  If  James 
Hall  rested  or  slept  no  one  knew  when  or  where. 

He  was  the  right  arm  of  Josephine  Caroline  Smith, 

There  was  a  myth  however  that  he  ever  indulged  in  a 
determined,  if  unsuccessful  fancy,  to  reserve  to  himself 

17 


SMITH'S    BARN 

for  rest  the  fifth  Monday  of  the  month,  when,  if  it 
appeared.  For  James  Hall  looked  upon  Monday,  the 
clergyman's  Sunday,  as  properly  his  own  with  much 
reason,  for  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  fourth 
commandment  was  not  a  law  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians,  at  Smith's  barn. 

Incidentally  among  the  duties  of  James  Hall 
daily  he  rolled  back  the  doors  of  the  barn  at  five  in 
the  morning  when  Charles  Worcester  Smith,  Junior, 
headed  his  great  chestnut  road  horse  for  the  Smith 
Mills  at  Stoneville,  five  miles  distant,  where  he  tied 
up  invariably  at  five-twenty.  This  is  burned  deep 
into  the  memory  of  a  small  boy  nearby  who  then, 
tossing  with  typhoid  through  the  long  winter  nights, 
listened  with  the  impatience  of  an  invalid  for  these 
opening  doors  as  the  forerunner  of  a  breaking  day. 
Gentle  Reader,  could  you  respond  as  did  James 
Hall  to  such  a  test  as  this.^  Of  all  the  horses  we 
boys  then  knew  this  great  chestnut  alone,  and  unlike 
our  own  ponies,  was  easier  to  start  than  to  stop. 
For  this  quality  we  remember  him. 

Activity  and  versatility  were  the  great  characteris- 
tics of  James  Hall.  He  turned  with  equal  facility 
from  the  planting  of  a  tree  on  some  natal  day  of  the 
Smiths,  and  almost  each  day  was  some  one's  birth- 
day, to  presiding  in  a  silk  hat  on  the  box  of  the  old 
Victoria  at  a  family  function  or  manicuring  the  finger 
nails  of  the  monkey.  James  Hall  was  a  vital  part  of 
the  outdoor  history  of  Worcester  of  that  day.    No 

18 


SMITH'S     BARN 

review  of  those  days  is  complete  without  recognition 
of  him.  Peace  and  happiness  to  him  is  the  great 
wish  of  those  boys  whose  hves  meant  so  much  of 
spiritual  development  to  James  Hall,  to  whom 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith  had  wisely  looked  for  the 
truth  of  those  weather-worn  words: — 

"GoHireaHalir 


19 


CHAPTER  3 

Montagues  and  Capulets — The  Champs  Elysee 

To  the  materially  wise,  a  house  in  those  days  on 
Elm  street  led  one  to  await  death  with  a  superb 
patience,  unexcelled,  and  to  look  even  upon  Paradise 
as  a  losing  transition.  Such  could  not  sing  with 
sincere  spirit  the  words  of  that  great  hymn : — 

''Weary  of  earth,  I  gaze  at  heaven  and  long 
to  enter  in.'' 

By  a  then  boy  in  his  early  teens,  along  in  the  early 
Eighties,  these  memories  of  the  West  Side  continue 
on,  memories  of  the  dead  but  largely  of  the  living; 
and  also  of  those  too  many  dead  but  not  buried,  but 
of  these  without  distressing  identification.  Again, 
enough  for  the  necessary  scenery  for  the  stage. 

For  more  than  forty  years  on  that  corner  the  little 
Smiths  and  the  little  Washburns  lived  close,  some- 
times too  close  for  their  physical  safety.  The  little 
Smiths  put  much  faith  "in  horses  and  chariots," 
while  the  little  Washburns  were  taught  to  believe 
that  the  pen  was  mightier  than  the  sword.  This 
encouraged  the  little  Smiths  who  had  a  profound 
respect  for  the  sword  into  many  an  invasion  of  the 
territory  of  their  neighbors  with  motives,  unhappily, 
purely  of  conquest.  At  times,  the  fondest  hopes  of 
the  little  Washburns  were  for  an  armed  neutrality, 

20 


SMITH'S    BARN 

for  these  little  neighbors  had  not  then  learned  to  com- 
pletely and  continuously  love  one  another.  While 
the  little  Washburns  always  yearned  for  peace,  with 
the  little  Smiths  it  was  too  often  for  a  piece  of  meat 
from  a  Washburn  cut.  At  times  these  little  Smiths 
momentarily  became  human  beings  and  like  other 
children.  This  must  be  reluctantly  admitted  at  this 
late  day.    This  they  did  not  at  all  times  deny. 

It  may  be  reasonably  wondered  whether  any  of 
these  little  Washburns  dreamed  of  standing  before 
the  altar  with  the  fair  and  only  daughter  of  this  great 
house  of  Smith.  Hence,  this  homely  and  intimate 
anecdote  may  with  propriety  be  introduced  here. 
At  a  great  dinner  which  Josephine  Caroline  Smith 
gave  in  honor  of  her  daughter,  now  Josephine  Lord 
Smith  Ranlet,  then  aged  seven,  one  of  these  little 
Washburns  was  magnanimously  placed  beside  the 
child.  He  then  cannily  saw  and  seized  his  opportuni- 
ty and  was  making  some  progress  with  the  lady,  if 
this  may  be  gallantly  asserted.  Then  this  cold  and 
determined  order  from  the  hostess  rang  clear  through 
the  banquet  hall : — 

''Julia,  take  Robert  into  the  kitchen  and  blow  his  nose."" 

Julia,  stimulated  by  the  supernatural  authorization 
to  blow  a  nose  other  than  her  own,  then  sprang 
forthwith  at  Robert  who  was  lifted  up  out  of  the 
function  by  his  Welch  and  Margetson  and  hurried 
cuisineward  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  of  his 

21 


SMITH'S    BARN 

siege.  A  cold  in  the  nose  or  a  snufBng  up  of  soup  is 
fatal  to  romance.  Hence,  this  romance  then  withered 
and  died  and  history  abruptly  reshaped  its  course. 

And  yet  little  literature  touches  the  generosity 

of  these  memories,  where  a  Washburn 

sings  the  praises  of  the  Smiths. 

Strangely,  these  two  houses  of  Montague  and 
Capulet  were  brought  together,  not  by  marriage  but 
in  1889  through  participation  by  their  professional 
members  in  the  settlement  of  a  large  estate.  Peace 
and  paens  of  praise,  each  of  all,  then  succeeded  trib- 
ulations and  truces.  The  testator  then  became  a 
great  peace-maker.  To  him  the  West  Side  then 
assumed  a  great  obligation.  Mean  are  the  bickerings 
of  youth  when  set  off  in  outline  sharp  against  the 
bonds  which  maturity  weaves  against  the  withering 
hand  of  time. 

Elm  street,  the  Champs  Elysee  of  Worcester  and 
the  West  Side,  has  changed  materially.  A  macadam 
surface  has  succeeded  a  rutted,  country  road.  It 
has  become  a  motor  thoroughfare  to  the  West, 
where  horns  honk  hoarsely.  Its  inhabitants  have 
been  driven  into  the  rear  of  their  houses,  where  they 
now  live  and  find  quiet.  Strangely,  assessed  values 
stand  practically  where  they  then  did,  because  the 
solvent  in  material  number  have  set  up  their  penates 
in  the  suburbs.  In  those  days  there  was  but  one 
estate  in  Worcester  which  could  be  called  an  estate, 

22 


SMITHS    BARN 

Mariemonte  of  the  Cromptons  on  Providence  Hill. 
Now  there  are  many. 

The  Slater  building  stands  where  in  Elm  street 
near  Main  street  Dr.  John  F.  Adams  and  Dr. 
Edward  E.  Frost  practiced  dentistry.  They  led 
their  professions,  though  Dr.  Pevey  had  quite  a 
pull  in  the  town  at  the  corner  of  Pleasant  Street, 
known  as  "Pevey's  Dental  Rooms."  Dr.  Adams  was 
a  man  of  marked  refinement  and  contributed  a 
number  of  boys  to  Elm  street.  He  later  became  a 
patron  of  Dr.  Walter  Herbert  Richardson,  who  owes 
materially  his  present  splendid  practice  to  him. 
Frost  was  a  man  of  great  versatility.  He  could  turn 
with  facility  and  success  from  the  inside  of  a  mouth 
to  the  Speedway  with  the  maiden  Mercury,  "Annie 
Paige,"  and  then  direct  the  comprehensive  activities 
of  the  Lincoln  House  opposite  where  now  stands  a 
movie  mecca.  He  was  also  the  boniface  of  the  old 
Exchange  Hotel.  Here  Washington  is  said  to  have 
started  to  consume  a  mince  pie.  Its  later  patrons 
lament  that  he  could  not  have  finished  it.  "Annie 
Paige"  was  rivalled  then  only  by  "Careless  Boy," 
owned  by  Clinton  M.  Dyer.  It  was  said  of  Mr. 
Dyer,  who  loved  that  horse  like  a  son,  that  when  Mr. 
Dyer  died  Careless  would  be  found  written  on 
his  heart,  like  unto  Queen  Mary  and  Calais.  A  son, 
Charles  Joseph  Dyer,  was  for  years  the  vocal  oasis 
of  Princeton  where  in  the  village  church  each  Sabbath 
the  portieres  were  drawn,  the  choir  uncovered  and 

23 


SMITH'S    BARN 

it  was  his  wont  to  express  the  first,  third  and  four- 
teenth verses  of  "The  Holy  City,"  Miss  Sadie  Brooks, 
the  belle  of  the  town  or  of  any  town,  now  Goddard, 
leading  the  chorus.  In  those  days,  dental  patients 
unhappily  looked  upon  dentistry  as  a  refined  type  of 
vivisection.  Signs  reading: — "Teeth  extracted  with- 
out pain,"  drew  the  timid.  Now,  with  the  advance 
of  the  surgical  profession,  sufferers  are  tempted  to 
lay  up  their  treasure  and  indulge  in  operations, 
which,  in  contrast  to  the  fears  of  old  days,  have 
become  with  some  a  unique  and  neurotic  form  of 
entertainment.  A  now  mature  woman  who  then  a 
girl  lived  close  to  Elm  street  is  never  quite  happy 
without  an  ether  cone  fastened  over  her  proboscis. 
One  old  lady,  a  survivor  of  innumerable  surgical 
operations,  once  wisely  said : — "  How  strange,  what  a 
small  part  of  the  human  body  one  really  needs  to 
live  on." 

In  the  block  immediately  west  of  the  old  Lincoln 
House  lived  the  four  Morse  boys;  William,  Arthur, 
John  and  Charles.  No  mother  was  respected  more 
highly  than  theirs,  for  she  drilled  into  her  sons  the 
qualities  of  high  honor  and  industry.  Where  the 
Salvation  Army  now  beats  the  tocsin  with: — "On- 
ward Christian  Soldiers,"  and  thrives  in  a  martial 
work,  encouraging  some  of  the  sensitive  to  leave 
Elm  street,  was  The  Church  of  the  Unity.  Here 
the  Smiths  worshipped,  when  they  worshipped. 
Here,  simulating  the  late  John  Wanamaker,  Charles 

^4 


S'MITH'S    BARN 

Martin  Thayer  taught  Sunday  school,  where  there 
was  standing  room  only.  An  epitaph: — "Here  lies 
a  lawyer  and  a  good  man"  once  stimulated  the 
question: — *'Why  did  they  bury  two  men  in  one 
grave?"  The  epitaph  of  Charles  Martin  Thayer 
will  provoke  no  such  query.  On  the  pulpit  supply 
committee  was  Judge  Adin  Thayer,  his  father.  An 
aspirant  for  this  pulpit,  with  the  Judge  sitting  before 
him,  is  said  to  have  preached  from  the  text : — 

''And  there  ivas  in  a  certain  city  a  Judge  who  feared 
neither  God  nor  man,'" 

He  was  not  "hired,"  the  commercial  term  which 
some  of  the  crude  unhappily  apply  to  the  calling  of  a 
clergyman  in  the  same  inaccurate  way  in  which 
he  is  often  described  as  "performing"  at  a  funeral. 
The  Church  of  the  Unity  was  then  built  forward 
towards  the  street  and  its  windows  fitted,  if  it  may 
be  properly  said,  with  a  type  of  stained  glass.  This 
splendor  provoked  comment  even  from  the  small 
boys.  Chetwood  Smith,  always  active,  versatile  and 
cheery,  then  six,  a  Little  Sunshine,  simulating  a 
stranger  upon  the  street,  in  an  hour  of  needed  avoca- 
tion from  his  intellectual  pursuits,  asked  a  passer: — 
"What  ith  that  building.?"  He  replied :—" The 
Church  of  the  Unity."  "Oh,"  said  Chettie,  who 
then  labored  somewhat  from  a  childish  lisp : — 

"7  thought  it  wath  a  billiard  parlor.'' 
25 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Another  day  a  neighbor,  deluded  with  the  dehght 
that  she  had  found  a  Smith  falhble,  hurried  in  to 
Josephine  Carohne  Smith  with  the  strong  charge 
that  Chettie  had  used  profane  language  in  her  back 
yard,  leading  astray  her  own  little  innocents.  Chet- 
tie was  immediately  summoned  before  the  maternal 
tribunal  and  indicted  for  the  use  of  these  offensive 
words: — "Darn  it."  Nothing  has  touched  the 
power  of  outraged  virtue  with  which  he  then  replied : — 
"Mother  I  never  uthed  thuch  language."  Each 
Sunday  to  The  Church  of  the  Unity  George  Sumner 
Barton,  grandfather  of  the  present  of  the  same  name, 
drove  a  pair  of  chestnuts,  no  more  striking  pair  of 
coach  horses  in  the  city  of  Worcester.  Then  every 
one  knew  personally  each  horse  in  Worcester.  Men 
showed  their  skill,  taste  and  money  in  the  horses 
they  bought  and  the  townspeople  came  out  to  sit 
in  judgment  thereupon.  Now  all  ride  in  motors  of 
such  plethora  and  quality  that  their  owners  have 
ceased  to  show  the  art  of  the  connoisseur  but  money 
only,  and  their  cars  are  looked  upon  simply  as  quali- 
fications for  Bradstreet. 

Where  George  Stevens  now  lives  at  the  corner  of 
Chestnut  street,  for  years  lived  "The  two  Burnside 
girls."  Girls  they  were  born  and  girls  they  died. 
Youth  sat  heavily  upon  them  and  the  finger  of  age 
was  never  caught  in  their  garden  gate.  They  too 
kept  on  going.  Here  Walter  Kennedy,  faithful  unto 
death,  completed  an  unbroken  trio,  sat  with  them 

26 


SMITH'S    BARN 

when  they  drove  around  Goes  Pond,  the  circuit  in 
those  days,  one  Johnson,  the  father  of  a  tall,  red- 
haired  boy,  on  the  box,  or,  at  eventide,  sang  to  them 
an  Aria  from  L.  Borgia.  Their  lawn  was  never 
tramped  by  our  young  feet  for  there  romped  a  dog 
who  barked  even  in  his  sleep.  More  feared  was  their 
kinsman,  D wight  Foster  Dunn,  who  was  very  fond 
of  small  boys.  Even  now  we  can  see  his  head, 
hydra  like  it  seemed  to  us,  rear  itself  above  the 
garden  fence,  and  our  nurses  frightened  us  to  sleep 
with  the  name  of  Dwight. 

Where  now  Jesse  Burkett  sits  among  the  Elks, 
borne  on  by  the  traditions  and  momentum  of  Jonas 
G.  Glark  and  Scofield,  the  wooden  house  of  George 
W.  Richardson  stood  in  a  large  tract  of  land.  George 
W.  Richardson  was  the  president  of  the  old  City 
National  Bank,  where  the  genteel  protected  their 
overdrafts  and  sought  at  times  to  negotiate  loans  on 
collateral,  which  was  suspiciously  scrutinized  by 
Nathaniel  Paine.  No  one  walked  the  streets  with 
more  of  a  martial  stride  than  Nathaniel  Paine.  He 
was  known  by  his  contemporaries  as  *'Nat,"  which 
the  small  boys  heard  as  '"Nap"  and  believed  to  be  a 
contraction  for  Napkin.  They  always  spoke  of  him 
as  "Napkin  Paine."  George  W.  Richardson  had  an 
awe-inspiring  presence  to  these  small  boys.  His 
watch  chain  touched  his  body  only  at  the  waistcoat 
button  hole  at  which  it  anchored  and  from  which  it 
then  hung  out  free.     Once,  calling  upon  one  of  the 

27 


SMITH'S    BARN 

neighbors,  where  a  wife  with  ill  concealed  pride 
asserted  that  her  husband  was  at  a  prayer-meeting, 
he  said: — *' What,  at  a  prayer  meeting  on  Wednesday 
evening?  A  man's  whole  life  should  be  a  prayer". 
He  had  set  himself  too  stiff  a  spiritual  pace.  The 
walk  before  the  Richardson  house  along  the  street 
was  known  as  "the  plank-walk"  long  after  it 
became  a  side-walk.  The  brick  houses  now  opposite 
have  all  succeeded  open  tracts  of  land  and  modest 
wooden  structures.  Rip  Van  Winkle  in  this  neigh- 
borhood today  at  a  home-coming  would  call  for  a 
sedative  for  his  own  peace  of  mind.  In  those  days 
it  was  a  foreign  country  beyond  the  slope  at  Fruit 
street  where  civilization  then  stopped.  It  was  a 
common  sight  to  see  cows  driven  through  Elm  street 
to  pasture  on  Newton  Hill  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Wetherell  farm,  where  us  fellers  sometimes  ventured 
with  the  spirit  with  which  Grenfell  started  for 
Labrador. 

At  the  head  of  the  driveway  leading  down  to 
Smith's  barn  stood  two  white  wooden  posts  which 
looked  large  to  the  small  boys  of  those  days.  Be- 
tween them  lay  a  large  brown  slab  stone.  A  game 
then  known  as  "Relievo"  made  this  stone  its  centre 
as  it  was  played  all  over  the  block.  In  that  square 
in  its  centre  then  stood  the  old  wooden  Chapin 
house,  and  behind  it  Kinnicutt's  barn,  and  then 
another  barn.  Kinnicutt's  house  was  later  removed 
and    set    up    at    "Lordvale"    by    Harry    Worcester 


SMITHS    BARN 

Smith.  Few  houses  have  experienced  such  a  revul- 
sion in  atmosphere.  This  territory  to  us  in  our 
tender,  timid  youth  was  Hke  unto  the  jungles  of 
Africa.  The  hand  of  civilization  had  not  then 
touched  it  and  made  it  the  garden  that  it  has  since 
become.  To  us  those  great  white  posts  were  a 
centre  of  life  on  the  West  Side.  Of  such  small  boys 
as  played  there,  as  of  the  Gracchi,  it  may  be  said : — 

They  were  our  jewels. 


29 


CHAPTER  4 

Mr.  Washburn 

Once  upon  a  time,  long  before  Smith's  barn  was 
thought  of,  which  is  going  back  some  way  as  the 
man  said  when  he  ordered  ox-tail  soup,  Ichabod 
Washburn,  the  first  of  the  name,  lived  at  Kingston. 
The  house,  a  small  wooden  cottage,  stands  on  the 
main  street  precisely  as  it  then  did  except  for  a  tablet 
thereon,  at  which  the  pilgrims  to  Plymouth  Rock 
nearby  look  with  interest.  Near  this  spot,  Edgar 
Reed  who  has  become  a  leading  manufacturer  in 
Worcester,  was  once  an  helpless  infant  to  whom 
rivets  and  screws  were  then  of  less  interest  than 
dairies.  He  undoubtedly  found  his  aspiration  in 
this  atmosphere.  Hence,  said  tablet  ought  to  be  so 
amended.  Abroad,  Ichabod  W^ashburn  was  the 
captain  of  a  packet  which  plied  between  Plymouth 
and  Boston,  and  at  home  his  consort  rocked  the 
cradle  as  faithfully  as  the  sea  rocked  his  boat  in 
Massachusetts  Bay.  He  became  the  father  of  twins, 
Ichabod  and  Charles,  succeeded  by  Halleck  Bartlett 
and  George  Spring  Taft  in  later  years,  there  being  no 
letters  patent  on  this  distinction.  x\s  the  boys 
grew  to  maturity,  Ichabod  Washburn .  Junior,  being 
sound  physically,  was  put  to  work  in  Cherry  Valley 
by  his  ambitious  and  wise  parents.  He  later  began 
to  draw  wire,  first  under  his  own  name  and  then 

30 


SMITH'S    BARN 

with  his  son-in-law,  Phihp  Louis  Moen,  as  partners, 
and  the  firm's  wagons  bore  the  confident  words, 
"I.  Washburn  and  Moen."  He  then  became  the 
founder  of  the  Washburn-Moen  Company  and  died 
rich,  justifying  the  judgment  of  his  ancestors.  His 
brother,  Charles  Washburn,  having  a  withered  arm, 
was  thought  fit  for  nothing  more  than  an  education, 
pursuant  to  the  practice  of  the  times,  and  he  was 
graduated  at  Brown.  To  be  a  graduate  of  a  college 
in  those  days  was  a  marked  distinction,  like  the 
presidency  of  Harvard  University  today.  Charles 
Washburn  then  migrated  to  Harrison,  Maine,  where 
Charles  Francis  Washburn,  his  son,  Mr.  Washburn, 
was  born  in  1827. 

Maine  has  a  soil  rich  and  productive  of  strong  men. 
Near  Harrison,  at  Livermore,  originated  another 
Washburn  family  of  another  stock,  so  that  it  may 
properly  and  accurately  be  said  that  it  was  the 
greatest  family  in  quantity  and  quality,  together, 
that  the  country  has  produced.  There  were  eleven 
children,  one  son  dying  in  infancy.  Of  the  seven 
sons  who  grew  up,  there  were  two  great  millers, 
two  foreign  ministers,  four  congressmen  at  one  time, 
two  governors  and  one  United  States  senator,  and 
from  five  different  states.  The  mother  of  those 
seven  sons  should  have  a  monument  on  the  Esplanade 
at  Portland,  where  stands  a  statue  of  the  unique 
Thomas  Brackett  Read.  The  Gage  family  also 
sprang    from    that    same    neighborhood,   and    The 

31 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Bridgton  News  came  for  years  regularly  to  two 
Worcester  families,  enabling  them  to  be  en  passant 
with  the  society  happenings  at  Naples,  Pinhook,  and 
the  hamlets  adjacent  thereto.  There  Thomas  Hovey 
Gage,  Junior,  the  Duke  of  York  of  the  house  of  Gage, 
has  restored  the  old  homestead,  and  modestly  named 
his  estate,  "The  Fleur-de-Least,"  where  he  lolls 
supine  in  patrician  duck  during  the  dog  days  on  his 
generous  verandas,  breaks  his  fast  daily  near  noon 
with  marmalade  and  mufBns,  an  army  of  minions  led 
by  his  whims,  and  then  sinks  into  slumber  to  the 
lullaby  of  the  electric  mowers  as  they  grind  the  grass 
on  his  great  grounds,  dreaming  of  his  triumphs  in 
Worcester.  Those  who  have  been  led  to  look  with 
awe  upon  Ardnaclachan,  Knowleswood  and  Iris- 
thorpe  should  look  upon  these  acres,  that  is  through 
the  iron  fences  which  secure  to  their  laird  his  privacy. 
Here,  he  has  allowed  to  leak  out  at  the  village  store 
that  he  is  the  legal  adviser  of  the  Worcester  Bank 
and  Trust  Company  which  in  its  corporate  name  is 
an  epitome  of  the  banking  history  of  Worcester,  that 
he  has  been  accepted  as  an  aesthetic  at  the  Museum 
to  whom  objets  d'art  need  not  be  tagged,  so  that  the 
yeoman  fall  down  and  worship  him.  To  them  as  to 
us  he  has  become  a  great  Gage,  and  his  mind  is 
neither  one  track  nor  narrow-guage.  A  fine  mind 
well  trained,  a  fine  sense  of  professional  ethics  and  a 
fine  knowledge  of  the  law,  these  qualities,  together, 
have  assured  his  pre-eminence  at  the  bar. 

32 


SMITH'S     BARN 

Mothers  of  the  West  Side,  soaking  in  your  own 
triumphs  more  or  less  fanciful,  a  solitary  son,  or  two 
or  three;  a  bank  president,  often  a  genteel  pawn- 
broker who  seeks  to  hold  our  property  as  collateral 
and  at  same  time  our  affections;  a  shrunken  Rufus 
Choate  hoping  to  keep  us  out  of  Charlestown ;  or  a 
modest  emulator  of  Carnegie  in  commerce,  content 
with  a  profit  of  twenty  per  cent. ;  contemplate  Maine 
and  her  great  sons  and  particularly  Martha  Ben- 
jamin Washburn  and  her  great  Livermore  family  of 
Washburns.  Can  you  then  continue  to  compla- 
cently inventory  your  own  broods  which  you  have 
developed? 

Charles  Francis  Washburn,  Mr.  Washburn,  then 
moved  to  Worcester  into  the  West-Side,  first  at  the 
corner  of  West  street,  where  now  stands  an  apart- 
ment house,  and  then  to  where  his  family  now  lives. 
With  the  house  of  Smith,  he  became  a  quorum. 
The  twins,  Ichabod  and  Charles  Washburn,  had  also 
come  to  Worcester  and  had  located  on  Summer 
street  on  adjoining  estates  at  Arch  street;  on  one  of 
which  later  George  Ichabod  Rockwood,  a  kinsman, 
soaked  in  its  traditions  and  found  inspiration;  and 
on  the  other  appeared  later  the  soothing  legend, 
"Dr.  Hero's  Cough  Syrup."  Here  the  twins  found 
themselves,  when  fashion  centered  on  Elm  street,  of 
the  world  but  not  in  it.  Here  at  the  family  gather- 
ings, Ichabod,  the  uncle,  prayed  aloud,  so  that  they 
who    listened    looked    askance,    that    Charles,    the 

33 


SMITH'SBARN 

nephew,  might  not  be  led  out  of  the  Kingdom  by  his 
worldly  associates  in  the  western  part  of  the  town, 
where  in  later  years  the  Worcester  Club  found  a  site. 
Even  then  the  spectres  of  dinner-jackets,  the  dance 
and  the  decollete  stalked  before  him,  for  he  was  of  the 
old  school,  and  had  he  anticipated  his  nephew,  an 
Episcopalian,  he  might  have  lost  the  power  and  the 
hope  to  pray. 

Charles  Washburn  and  his  son,  Mr.  Washburn, 
then  established  a  wire  mill  which  became  the 
Quinsigamond  plant  of  the  American  Steel  and'  Wire 
Company,  then  known  as  Charles  Washburn  and 
Son.  Mr.  Washburn  took  up  his  domicile  across 
the  tracks  in  the  small  house  which  is  now  main- 
tained as  a  luncheon  club  by  the  company.  Then 
about  1868,  upon  the  birth  of  the  child's  historian, 
as  in  honor  of  the  day,  the  business  was  wiped  out  by 
fire,  before  the  mind  of  Ichabod  Rockwood  could 
have  averted  it.  Mr.  Washburn  then  became  an 
officer  of  the  Washburn-Moen  Company  and  moved 
to  Grove  street.  Then  Ichabod  Washburn  died. 
He  was  a  large  contributor  to  the  building  of  Mechan- 
ics Hall,  hence  Washburn  Hall,  and  of  his  benefac- 
tions were  also  The  Washburn  Shops  of  The  Wor- 
cester Polytechnic  Institute  and  The  Memorial 
Hospital.  His  name  and  that  of  Moen,  Crompton 
and  Knowles  for  years  were  the  great  manufacturing 
names  of  Worcester.  The  business  for  most  of  twen- 
ty-five years  was  then  conducted   by  his  favorite 

34 


SMITH'S     BARN 

nephew,  Mr.  Washburn,  and  PhiHp  Louis  Moen. 
Hence,  they  were  looked  upon  by  many  as  partners 
and  equal  owners,  although  Mr.  Washburn  had  in- 
herited nothing  but  the  name.  Someone  has  said 
that  it  is  unfortunate  to  be  poor.  An  unjustified 
suspicion  of  wealth  is  an  imputation  from  which  Mr. 
Washburn,  and  his,  have  always  suffered.  This  is 
worse.    So  much  for  an  epitome. 

Mr.  Washburn  for  years  was  vice-president  of  the 
Washburn-Moen  Company.  He  was  not  elected 
president.  He  did  not  question  this  decision.  Some 
did  however  question  the  way  in  which  it  was  made. 
He  was  always  content  with  his  place  for  he  thought 
first  of  the  company  and  last  of  himself.  He  loved 
his  business.  He  opened  the  office  in  the  morning  and 
he  closed  it  at  night.  Without  his  coat,  with  his 
own  hands  he  distributed  the  morning  mail  to  the 
office  force.  He  was  one  of  them.  This  they  recog- 
nized. He  had  indomitable  optimism  and  indomita- 
ble cheer,  his  two  great  unique  qualities.  These 
spread  through  the  factory,  they  were  contagious,  and 
his  men  loved  him  and  speak  of  him  to  this  day. 
He  was  essentially  a  born  salesman.  He  had  an 
attractive  presence.  He  could  talk  and  men  believed 
what  he  said.  He  could  sell  anything.  He  could 
have  made  a  fortune  selling  even  Bibles  on  the 
Bowery.  An  army  of  drummers  found  inspiration  at 
his  desk.  The  letters  he  dictated  went  out  unedited 
by   his   secretary   straight  as   they   came  from   his 

35 


SMITH'S    BARN 

mouth,  for  he  had  the  instincts  of  a  scholar  which  he 
sought  to  develop.  When  he  was  in  doubt  and 
hesitated,  he  had  a  curious  way  of  throwing  his 
booted  leg,  many  wore  high  boots  in  those  days,  over 
the  slide  of  his  roll  top  desk  and  drawing  through  his 
mouth  his  side  whiskers. 

As  much  as  any  one  man  he  made  the  Washburn - 
Moen  Company  what  it  was  and  its  name  a  symbol 
of  success,  and  its  product  known  in  Timbuctoo. 
This  is  a  temperate  statement,  spread  after  thirty 
years  for  the  first  time  upon  a  Worcester  page  though 
long  a  common  place  fact  in  the  offices  of  the  com- 
pany and  in  distant  cities.  In  1875  when  the  com- 
pany was  paying  no  dividends,  he  went  west  and 
located  on  a  farm  the  original  underlying  Glidden 
barbed-wire  patent.  The  price  was  $6000.  He 
begged  his  company  to  buy  it.  They  called  him  a 
visionary.  He  may  have  been  a  visionary  in  that  he 
looked  forward,  as  when  in  the  early  Nineties  as  a 
pioneer  he  applied  for  letters  patent  on  a  device  for 
aerial  navigation.  His  associates  yielded  but  they 
bought  only  a  half  interest  in  this  patent.  In  one 
year  the  company  had  made  one  million  dollars  and 
for  more  than  twenty  years  paid  twenty  per  cent, 
dividends.  Curiously,  the  company  mailed  its  last 
quarterly  dividends  as  high  as  three  per  cent,  on 
July  1,  1893,  his  last  day  in  the  office.  Then  they 
paid  eight  and  then  four  percent.,  annually.  He  spent 
four   years    in    Chicago   fighting   infringers    on    the 

36 


SMITH'S     BARN 

greatest  patent  ever  brought  into  New  England.  He 
spent  much  time  in  Europe  Hcensing  its  manufac- 
turers. He  was  the  head  of  all  its  manufacturing 
pools,  legal  in  those  days.  He  was  at  the  head  of 
the  barb-fence  business  of  the  world.  He  also  found 
the  bale-tie  patents.  He  much  made  his  associates 
rich.  He  was  happy  although  he  had  a  small  salary 
for  these  days  and  a  comparatively  small  stock  inter- 
est for  any  days,  for  his  creed  was  the  day's  work.  He 
was  enabled  to  give  his  family  every  reasonable  com- 
fort and  every  advantage  of  education  and  travel  and 
a  good  name,  but  beyond  this  to  leave  them  only  a 
competence 

Mr.  Washburn  was  one  of  those  too  few  men  of 
business  with  resources  outside  of  his  own  office, 
that  is  at  home  and  in  his  church.  Unable  to  go  to 
college  for  which  he  had  prepared,  because  of  ill 
health,  he  always  gratified  a  taste  for  reading  the 
best  books.  There  are  few  men  tired  from  the  day's 
work  who  are  found  reading  regularly  in  the  evening 
such  books  as  Carlyle's  French  Revolution.  He 
always  read  with  a  pillow  in  his  lap  to  hold  the  book 
up.  He  had  a  sociability,  not  forced,  because  he 
naturally  liked  people.  He  was  gracious,  not  a 
common  trait  among  us,  for  when  a  man  is  gallant 
to  a  woman  it  is  talked  all  over  town,  and  he  might 
reasonably  aspire  to  a  profitable  contract  as  a  curio. 
His  speech  was  sharp  at  times  on  provocation.  When 
approached  on  the  broad  aisle  in  going  out  of  All 

37 


SMITHES    BARN 

Saints'  Church  in  criticism  of  an  assistant  minister, 
which  at  one  time  was  a  popular  pastime,  he  said : — 
''I  have  been  here  one  hour  and  a  half.  My  mind  is 
fairly  sweet.  Don't  poison  it  at  least  until  we  get 
into  Irving  street."  He  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor 
which  clung  to  him  to  the  end,  and  he  was  one  of 
those  too  few  men  who  could  make  laughter  and  in 
his  own  turn  listen  and  laugh.  When  once  asked  on  a 
trip  with  his  small  boys,  and  he  was  not  only  a 
father  to  them  but  a  brother  and  good  company,  for 
some  champagne,  he  replied: — "I  will  give  you  boys 
some  real  pain."  There  were  other  complications  from 
drink.  He  had  a  habit  at  one  time  of  taking  these 
small  boys  to  Boston,  which  he  discontinued,  for  he 
was  able  only  to  reach  a  fountain  and  liquidate  their 
accounts  as  they  were  starting  for  the  next.  He 
travelled  much,  and  when  at  home  he  asked  the  maid 
at  the  table  for  anything,  he  often  jocosely  added, 
'* Charge  it  to  the  manufacturing  account."  When 
all  his  sons  voted  against  his  candidate  in  a  Presi- 
dential campaign,  he  said  he  never  would  have  dared 
to  grow  up  had  he  known  that  he  was  to  be  disen- 
franchised to  the  tune  of  six  to  one.  He  wrote  a 
customer  in  Connecticut,  who  had  complained  of  the 
wire  which  was  sent  him,  ''It  may  not  be  what  you 
thought  you  wanted  and  ordered,  but  you  are  a 
farmer  and  will  undoubtedly  find  it  useful  to  string 
dried  apples  on."  He  did  business  as  though  the 
company    was   his   own    individual    property.      He 

38 


SMITHS     BARN 

hated  tobacco  and  contemplated  screwing  to  the 
floor,  with  screws  to  be  bought  of  Edgar  Reed,  a 
fellow  immigrant,  the  seat  in  which  those  who  came 
to  see  him  on  business  sat,  so  that  he  could  draw  back 
from  those  who  used  tobacco  and  they  could  not 
follow  him.  He  was  almost  as  faithful  to  a  silk  hat 
as  deacon  Estabrook  of  Union  Church.  They  had 
long  sat  on  the  same  broad  aisle.  In  days  when  even 
the  President  of  the  United  States  autographed  all 
his  letters,  Mr.  Washburn  wrote  his  own,  in  a  fine 
hand.  He  recognized  his  political  obligations  and 
was  a  speaker  at  great  rallies.  He  was  president  of  The 
Old  Women's  Home.  Naturally  it  appealed  to  him. 
The  mature  are  often  illogical  in  their  attitude 
towards  the  young.  A  father  resents  an  ingrate  son, 
forgetting  that  he  too  in  his  young  days  was  an  in- 
grate to  a  father  now  dead.  Fate  is  not  an  unfair 
evenizer.  ''As  ye  reap  so  shall  ye  sow,"  was  found 
among  the  papers  of  a  father  on  the  West  Side  who 
had  died  in  disappointment.  There  is  nothing  so 
touching  as  the  sight  of  an  old  woman  whom  age  has 
made  a  child  again,  some  one's  mother,  too  often 
forgotten  and  deserted  by  those  for  whom  she  has 
lived  and  worked,  who  should  have  built  a  wall  of 
love  and  comfort  and  protection  about  her.  This  he 
sought  to  do.  His  great  avocation  was  hills  and 
mountains  and  driving,  often  to  Drury  Hill  and 
Asnebumskit  where  he  went  with  a  field-glass,  and 
if  he  did  not  talk  long  with  all  the  farmers  along  the 

39 


SMITH'S    BARN 

road  it  was  because  there  were  none  in  sight.  He 
was  fond  of  horses  and  in  his  eariiest  days  often 
brushed  back  from  Quinsigamond  driving  ''Old 
Marlborough,"  who  was  then  much  respected,  while 
his  business  associate  at  the  time,  William  E.  Rice, 
tried  ineffectually  to  get  out  of  his  dust.  This  he 
never  was  able  to  do,  that  is  on  the  highway.  All 
his  qualities  Mr.  Washburn  gave  to  his  sons  but 
divided  among  them,  equitably,  to  some  humor,  to 
others  business  acumen,  and  by  their  inheritance 
were  three  carried  into  the  ministry. 

There  have  been  very,  very  few  abler  or  more 
successful  business  men  in  Worcester  than  William 
Ellis  Rice.  He  was  a  great  president  of  the  Wash- 
burn-Moen  Company.  In  the  crisis  of  1893  he 
jeopardized  all  that  he  had  and  saved  it  and  its 
credit.  He  was  always  a  loyal  friend  to,  and  a 
constant  worshipper  at  All  Saints'  Church  and  long  a 
vestryman.  An  organ  of  the  best  type  is  now  being 
built  into  the  church  in  his  name.  This  is  a  generous, 
wise  and  fitting  gift  by  his  widow,  Lucy  Draper 
Rice  and  family,  for  more  souls  are  saved  by  music 
than  by  preachers  and  prayers. 

Mr.  Washburn  was  a  Christian.  Here  he  showed 
himself  greatest.  In  those  days  there  were  more  of 
his  particular  kind.  In  his  early  life  a  playing-card 
was  never  seen  in  his  house,  and  reading  of  a  different 
sort  was  expected  on  Sunday.  Throughout  his  life, 
his  horses  rested  on  the  seventh  day,  his  man-servant 

40 


SMITH'S    BARN 

and  his  maid-servant  and  the  stranger  within  his 
gates,  although  his  small  boys  sometimes  allowed 
the  goat  to  escape,  suspiciously,  to  relieve  the  tension 
of  the  day.  He  was  always  in  his  pew  at  church 
whenever  there  was  a  service.  He  always  taught  a 
Bible  class,  when  every  chair  was  occupied.  He 
was  always  at  prayer-meeting,  before  he  left  Union 
Church  and  often  afterwards,  where  he  was  always 
ready  to  talk.  He  was  at  first  a  Congregationalist 
and  then  an  Episcopalian.  His  religion  was  an 
honest  one.  He  looked  upon  the  Bible  as  a  text 
book,  as  the  Worcester  lawyer  looks  upon  the  Massa- 
chusetts Reports,  and  more  than  this.  He  often 
said : — 

*'/  am  as  ready  to  lie  in  my  grave  as  in  my  bed,^^ 

When  the  great  test  came,  he  lived  out  his  faith. 

He  was  struck  down  on  July  1st  in  the  midst  of 
splendid  health  and  busy  business,  when  men  think 
first  of  life  and  last  of  death.  He  stood  before  the 
King  of  Terrors  as  he  had  lived,  and  he  laughed. 
While  he  recognized  the  revolution,  he  was  unshaken. 
He  was  himself.  With  characteristic  humor  he 
said  to  his  physician,  "We  now  have  something  on 
our  hands  more  important  than  the  fourth  of  July." 
and  again,  "We  ought  to  be  thankful  that  apoplexy 
is  a  genteel  malady."  Then  calling  to  his  bed  the 
only  one  of  his  sons  who  was  in  Worcester,  he  said, 
as  naturally  as  though  starting  for  Grove  Street: — 

41 


SMITH'S    BARN 

''Robert,  I  know  that  this  is  the  end  of  me  and 
while  I  can  talk  I  have  but  to  say : 

I  am  not  afraid  to  die.    Stand  by  your  Mother.'' 

He  was  then  out  of  his  head  for  twenty  days  until  he 
died,  but  what  he  said,  uncensored  by  the  repressive- 
ness of  civilization,  could  have  been  listened  to  by  a 
child.  These  are  strong  tests.  Of  such  was  Mr. 
Washburn,  his  record  attempted  in  his  own  way  by 
one  of  his  own  blood,  a  privilege.  "Honour  thy 
father  and  mother;  which  is  the  jBrst  commandment 
with  promise." 

On  his  stone  in  Rural  Cemetery  are  the  words: — 

"/n  the  midst  of  a  busy  and  a  useful  life, 
God's  finger  touched  him  and  he  slept." 


42 


CHAPTER  5 

The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

Of  those  days  on  the  West  Side,  of  the  women,  a 
term  of  scriptural  dignity,  but  four  remain.  They 
are  the  last  of  the  Mohicans.  One  of  these  women, 
Louisa  Southgate  Bowen  Blake,  widow  of  James 
Blake,  now  lives  where  the  family  has  always 
lived  at  the  corner  of  West  and  Cedar  streets, 
around  which  the  trollies  now  grind  their  way, 
because  President  Dewey  declines  to  pay  further 
tribute  to  the  Marble-Nye  Company.  His  armor 
is  immune  against  the  respectful  deportment 
and  blandishments  of  the  head  of  that  great  oil 
mart.  It  is  very,  very  hard  to  do  a  Dewey.  The 
Blake  family  has  always  been  a  talented  family.  The 
daughters  have  shown  a  marked  artistic  sense. 

James  Barnard  Blake  was  the  Agent  and  Superin- 
tendent of  the  Worcester  Gas  Light  Company  long 
before  Dana  D.  Barnum,  who  became  great  in  Wor- 
cester, was  born.  James  Blake  was  efficient  in 
business.  He  was  a  democrat  in  its  best  interpreta- 
tion, and  made  comfortable  all  who  sat  with  him, 
whether  they  were  clad  in  overalls  or  in  evening 
dress,  which  in  those  days  was  largely  leased.  Then 
when  families  ''had  company"  the  toilet  of  the  men 
was  largely  confined  to  turning  down  their  "pants" 

43 


SMITH'S    BARN 

and  reversing  their  collars  and  cuffs.  No  one  has 
been  mayor  of  Worcester  a  longer  time  than  James 
Blake.  He  had  been  elected  to  a  sixth  term  when  he 
died.  This  is  easily  the  record.  In  those  days  it  was 
an  honor  to  be  mayor  of  a  city.  His  political 
efficiency  was  recognized  by  all.  He  was  essentially 
liked  by  all.  Capacity,  success  and  popularity  sel- 
dom walk  hand  in  hand.  In  him  they  did.  As  an 
evidence  of  his  political  instinct,  his  wife  saw  him 
one  day  talking  on  the  corner  before  the  house  with 
one  of  the  plain  people  while  dinner  waited,  which 
in  those  days  was  eaten  at  the  vulgar  hour  of  one, 
post  meridian.  When  she  asked  him  why  he  kept 
dinner  waiting,  he  replied : — 

''Louisa,  we  may  need  him,  some  day.'' 

Once,  in  walking  by  Park  street  corner  in  Boston, 
James  Blake  was  handed  a  tract  with  the  words: — 
"How  James  Blake  threw  away  his  cigar  and  found 
Christ." 

Their  son,  Lowell  Blake,  was  the  only  boy  of  his 
kind  seen  on  Elm  street  in  those  days.  He  was  a 
genius.  He  was  always  busy.  He  did  not  play  as 
boys  played,  but  at  the  tender  age  of  seven  was 
happiest  when  working  in  a  ditch,  an  empty  clay 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  beside  the  Irish  municipal  em- 
ployees of  his  father,  the  mayor.  At  times  he  would 
remove  his  cap  and  mop  his  brow  with  a  red  ban- 
danna  handkerchief   which   he   kept   therein.      He 

44 


SMITH'S     BARN 

was  very  fond  of  tools,  and  as  a  small  boy  often  put 
a  hammer  or  chisel  under  his  pillow  when  going  to 
sleep.  His  father  gave  him  a  shovel  and  he  started 
in  the  back  yard  to  dig  his  way  to  China.  Once  he 
unfortunately  hit  in  the  head  a  son  of  one  of  the 
neighbors  with  a  pick-axe,  whose  mother  generously 
said  her  boy  should  never  have  got  his  head  in  the 
way  of  Lowell's  axe.  He  was  always  at  work.  He 
later  made  his  mark  in  the  railroad  business  in  the 
West  and  Mexico,  for  which  he  was  peculiarly  fitted. 
No  memories  of  the  West  Side  can  properly  omit 
mention  of  this  family. 

Another  Mohican,  Peter  C.  Bacon  walked  daily  on 
Elm  street  to  his  house  at  the  corner  of  Linden 
street.  More  than  any  one  man  he  was  looked  upon 
with  reverence  by  us.  We  had  read  at  school  of  the 
Civil  War.  We  had  been  told  by  our  mothers  that 
two  of  the  sons  of  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Bacon,  Frank  and 
Billie,  had  been  killed  in  that  war.  One  of  them 
lies  in  Rural  Cemetery,  and  there  is  a  monument  to 
the  other  whose  body  lies  unidentified  on  a  Southern 
battlefield.  Hence,  Mr.  Bacon's  silk  hat,  the  only 
hat  he  wore,  almost  alone  was  immune  from  such 
profane  missiles  as  snow  balls.  Further,  our  hands 
were  stayed  by  the  thought  of  the  big  brothers  of 
some  of  us  who  walked  home  from  church  with  his 
daughter,  then  known  as  Lizzie  Bacon,  now  Bartlett, 
the  mother  of  "the  twins."  She  was  never  left 
alone,  not  because  of  any  timidity  on  her  part  but, 

45 


SMITH'S    BARN 

because  of  her  personal  charm,  she  was  helpless. 
She  knew  not  solitude.  Mrs.  Bacon  was  a  motherly 
woman.  She  walked  with  a  cane.  This  impressed 
us  because  our  own  mothers  did  not.  She  lead  us  to 
look  upon  her  house  as  another  home  of  our  own. 
We  did  not  know  that  she  saw  in  us  her  soldier  sons 
who  had  gone  on.  She  taught  us  our  first  lessons, 
and  we  remember  her  for  her  round  Os  and  crooked 
Ss.  Mr.  Bacon  was  the  leader  of  the  bar.  His 
clients  were  the  great  manufacturers  of  Worcester 
and  the  county.  He  was  of  that  type  of  counsellor 
now  too  much  extinct.  His  first  thought  was  of  the 
comfort  and  welfare  of  his  clients  and  not  of  their 
pocket  books.  He  was  a  lover  of  the  law  and  not  of 
a  bank  balance. 

Col.  William  S  win  ton  Bennett  Hopkins  was  his 
partner.  He  was  an  accomplished  gentleman.  He 
always  saw  us  boys  and  called  us  by  name.  Every 
Sunday  morning  when  we  were  at  church  he  was 
in  his  law  library.  This  concentration,  because  of 
his  brilliant  mind,  carried  him  successfully  through 
the  courts  for  the  next  five  days.  Charles  Dickens 
would  have  endorsed  the  changing  nomenclature 
of  his  law  firm.  First  it  was  Bacon  and  Hopkins; 
then  Bacon,  Hopkins  and  Bacon;  then  Hopkins, 
Bacon  and  Hopkins;  and  then  Hopkins,  Bacon  and 
Smith ;  and  then  Smith,  Gage  and  Dresser.  His  ver- 
satility was  great.  One  day  he  argued  a  case  in 
the    Supreme    Court    of   the   United    States.      The 

46 


SMITH'S    BARN 

next  evening  he  played  a  winning  game  of  billiards 
at  The  Worcester  Club.  A  soldier  in  the  Civil 
War,  as  the  late  Chief  Justice  Marcus  Knowlton 
said  of  him: — 

''One  had  but  to  see  him  in  his  uniform  to  be  stirred 
with  admiration,'' 

With  Hopkins,  the  other  leader  of  the  Worcester 
Bar  of  that  day  was  Frank  Palmer  Goulding.  Each 
was  the  antithesis  of  the  other.  Each  was  president 
of  The  Worcester  Club,  from  which  office  a  timid 
political  aspirant  might  shrink  as  a  liability  on  the 
East  Side.  And  yet  each  was  often  urged  to  run 
for  Congress.  Some  young  law  students  spoke  of 
Goulding  as  "the  tenant",  for  they  had  read  in 
Blackstone  of  an  ancestor,  one  Michael  Golding, 
"'tenant  to  the  precipe."  Hard  work  made  Goulding 
what  he  was.  His  power  drew  men  towards  him. 
Born  in  Grafton  before  it  was  leavened  and  toned 
by  Lordvale,  industry  and  a  mind  which  could  be 
cultivated  were  the  only  gifts  which  God  gave  him. 
He  was  a  dynamo.  He  made  his  five  talents  ten. 
While  Hopkins  vivisected  the  most  rebellious  witness 
with  a  plethora  of  ether,  Goulding  had  small  con- 
sideration for  the  mental  comfort  of  the  patient. 
Goulding  forgot  form  but  remembered  substance. 
He  had  a  rugged,  strong  eloquence.  For  which 
reasons  Goulding  was  stronger  in  an  argument 
before  the  full  bench  on  a  question  of  law,  while 

47 


SMITH'S     BARN 

Hopkins  reached  a  greater  success  with  the  jury. 
In  his  zeal  for  his  cHent  Goulding  forgot  everything 
except  his  ethics,  which  were  never  questioned. 
He  was  lawyer  and  client.  He  once  observed,  across 
the  table  to  an  apparently  respectable  gentleman 
of  mature  years  from  New  York,  trying  a  case 
against  him: — 

''We'll  cut  your  eye  teeth,  old  man.'' 

He  would  not  have  gone  far  as  an  attendant  in  a 
day  nursery.  And  yet,  when  he  was  not  prodded, 
he  had  a  heart  as  tender  as  a  woman.  A  glass  of 
water,  which  most  men  hope  to  empty  into  their 
mouths,  Goulding,  preoccupied  in  a  great  cause, 
sometimes  poured  inside  his  collar.  This  is  a  photo- 
graph of  Frank  Palmer  Goulding  and  not  a  painting. 
These  two  men,  together  not  separately,  had  all 
the  professional  qualities  to  which  the  young  prac- 
titioner aspired,  and  he  sought  to  emulate  them,  and 
there  was  much  clearing  of  the  throats  at  the  bar 
like  Hopkins,  and  some  deficiencies  in  deportment 
like  Goulding.  The  young  practitioner  often  got  no 
nearer. 

John  Davis  Washburn  lived  in  Linden  street. 
He  had  come  down  from  Lancaster  and  did  the 
largest  fire  insurance  business  in  Worcester,  now 
conducted  by  H.  Ward  Bates.  He  had  much  per- 
sonal charm  and  was  courteous  to  all,  the  great 
and  the  small.     He  was  a  man  of  literary  tastes 

48 


SMITHS    BARN 

and  considerable  attainment.  These  qualities  gave 
him  a  marked  individuality  in  a  town,  preeminently 
a  manufacturing  city.  He  was  a  handsome  man, 
so  our  mothers  had  told  us.  When  he  walked  up 
Elm  street  it  was  a  progress  and  we  boys  were 
much  impressed.  He  became  later  Minister  to 
Switzerland.  This  accentuated  his  position  in 
Worcester.  It  was  said  of  him  by  some  irreverent 
wag,  that  when  he  drew  himself  up  before  the  Alps 
to  the  full  of  his  stature,  the  chamoix  were  so  trans- 
fixed by  his  pulchritude  that  the  peasants  were 
enabled  to  slip  up  from  behind,  place  salt  upon  their 
tails,  and  for  the  first  time  to  reduce  them  to  cap- 
tivity. 

John  Davis  W^ashburn  established  the  firm  of 
Washburn,  Willis,  Greene  and  Bates  in  a  formal 
ukase  which  made  a  strong  impression  on  the 
town: — "Mr.  Willis  will  have  charge  of  the  inside 
business,  ably  assisted  by  Mr.  Bates.  Mr.  Greene 
will  conduct  the  outside  business.  Col.  Washburn 
will  give  himself  up  to  intricate  questions  of  law." 
Mr.  Willis  was  a  Yankee  from  Oxford  of  the  best 
type.    Mr.  Bates  set  his  compass  by  the  words: — 

''  Seest  thou  a  man  diligent  in  his  business. 
He  shall  stand  before  Kings, '^ 

His  was  the  office  key  of  the  firm  which  moth  and 
rust  did  least  corrupt.  No  one  preceded  him  into 
the  office  in  the  morning  or  followed  him  out  at 

49 


SMITH'S    BARN 

night.  He  approached  it  with  the  same  speed  with 
which  he  walked  home.  Their  offices  were  in  the 
old  Brinley  Block  on  Pearl  street  where  were  also 
the  law  offices  of  Sullivan  and  O'Connell.  No  one 
walked  the  streets  more  slowly  than  John  Sullivan. 
He  never  passed  any  one,  that  is  on  the  street.  He 
had  a  brilliant  mind.  He  did  not  do  his  best  work 
with  his  legs.  Underneath  these  offices  was  Belcher's 
meat  market,  where  the  great  bought  their  meat, 
which  in  those  days  was  seen  on  the  table. 

Philip  Louis  Moen,  called  the  barbed-wire  King, 
was  the  first  manufacturer  of  Worcester.  No  one 
has  been  more  strongly  entrenched  in  the  business, 
banking  and  philanthropic  life  of  the  city,  from  the 
day  he  came  into  town  to  the  day  his  body  was 
carried  into  Rural  Cemetery  through  a  line  of  his 
working  men.  Although  he  had  always  stood  in 
the  public  light,  there  never  was  a  woman  not 
proud  to  be  seen  with  him.  Gentle  Reader,  can  this 
be  said  of  any  one  you  know.  With  erect  figure, 
white  hair  and  gold  spectacles,  his  was  a  commanding 
figure.  He  was  of  French  descent  and  had  all  the 
charm  and  gallantry  of  that  race,  with  a  kindliness 
of  thought  and  expression  which  made  him  beloved. 

Charles  Henry  Morgan,  for  years  with  the  Wash- 
burn-Moen  Company,  stepped  out  and  established 
the  Morgan  Construction  Company.  This  was 
a  wise  move  on  his  part.  The  business  has  been 
eminently    successful.      He    was    a    thoroughbred. 

50 


SMITH'S    BARN 

An  invalid  in  his  last  years,  he  did  not  slow  down. 
He  was  essentially  a  manufacturer  in  its  technical 
sense  and  an  inventor.  He  was  always  in  his  pew 
at  Plymouth  Church.  There  is  no  habit  like  this 
to  command  the  respect  of  the  community  which 
even  the  irreligious  must  admit,  down  deep  in  their 
hearts,  wiggle  as  they  may.  There  may  be  some 
bad  men  in  the  church,  but  there  are  more  bad  men 
outside.  A  son  of  Charles  Henry  Morgan,  Paul 
Beagary  Morgan,  is  substantial  and  Ralph  Landers 
Morgan,  another  son,  is  brilliant,  inheriting  the 
inventive  turn  of  his  father.  His  wife,  Alice  Sawyer 
Morgan,  is  one  of  the  few  women  in  history  who  has 
made  safely  a  morganatic  marriage. 

Of  such  as  Charles  Henry  Morgan  and  these  were 
some  Mohicans,  of  a  great  tribe,  of  which  great 
chiefs  were 

Uncas  and  Chingachgook. 


51 


CHAPTER  6 

Others  of  the  Anointed 

Pearl  street  in  those  days  ran  well  up  with  Elm 
street  because  of  the  quality  of  the  Huntington, 
Woodward  and  Gage  families.  Its  homes  were 
comparatively  childless,  three  or  four  children  only 
in  each.  Elm  street  was  known  for  its  sportsmen, 
Pearl  street  for  its  scholars.  One  of  the  Pearl 
street  boys  was  given  the  name  "Loafer"  by  Elm 
street,  satirically,  because  of  his  high  stand  in 
school,  until  his  mother  said  that  unless  this  name 
was  discontinued  her  yard  privileges  would  be  with- 
drawn. The  name  was  withdrawn.  Pearl  street 
had  not  that  lofty  type  of  virtue  in  which  Elm  street 
abounded,  for  when  one  of  the  little  Washburn 
boys  was  heard  to  observe,  confidently,  that  he  would 
not  tell  a  lie  for  a  million  dollars,  little  Lem.  W^ood- 
ward  unhappily  commented: — 

"  Well,  I  dont  know,  ihafs  a  good  deal  of  money, '^ 

William  Reed  Huntington  was  rector  of  All 
Saints'  Church,  Episcopalian.  Another  great  leader, 
but  of  the  Catholic  church,  was  Father  Power  who 
was  highly  respected  on  the  West  Side,  though  of 
another  faith.  He  was  essentially  a  man  of  God. 
His  gravestone  may  be  seen  on  the  south  side  of 


SMITH'S    BARN 

the  Boston  road,  east  of  the  Causeway.  In  his 
later  years  he  was  a  great  physical  sufferer,  which 
disabilities  he  bore  with  heroism.  One  of  us  once 
went  to  ask  Father  Power  to  act  as  a  judge  at  a 
declamation  contest  and  returned  reporting  to 
the  Club  that  he  was  not  at  home,  adding,  with 
childlike  ignorance  of  the  tenets  of  his  church, 
that  no  one  was  in,  not  even  his  wife  for  whom  he 
had  asked.  Two  more  priests  who  came  into  the 
West-Side  at  times  deserve  mention.  Fathers  Conaty 
and  McCoy,  both  efficient  public  speakers.  It 
has  been  said: — "The  earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the 
fullness  thereof,"  save  the  West-Side  which  belongs 
to  the  old  families.  The  Irish  immigrant  has  in 
recent  years  wisely  amended  this  proposition,  to 
his  advantage  and  that  of  his  adopted  ward. 

Into  All  Saints'  Sunday-school  all  wanted  to  go 
because  of  the  plants  at  Easter.  The  rectory,  next 
to  Plymouth  Church,  has  now  become  a  leechery. 
The  Church  stood  next  to  it,  where  the  Grand  Army 
of  the  Republic  now  is,  running  through  to  Pleasant 
Street.  It  was  burned  to  the  ground.  Church 
outdoor  gatherings  were  held  there  on  the  rectory 
grounds.  One  of  the  boys  brought  a  goat  to  add 
to  the  festivities  of  the  day.  His  mother  suggested 
that  the  goat  be  curried  and  made  more  presentable. 
The  boy  began  this  work  but  stopped,  for  the  supply 
of  raw  material  seemed  inexhaustible,  like  the 
scriptural  widow's  cruse, 

53 


SMITH'S    BARN 

William  Reed  Huntington  had  but  one  thought, 
the  success  of  All  Saints'  Church,  and  in  those  days 
Worcester  was  a  stoney  field  for  Episcopacy.  Un- 
like most  clergymen,  when  he  conducted  the  service 
his  eyes  were  always  on  the  book  and  he  never  saw 
the  quality  or  quantity  of  his  congregation.  He 
remembered  his  work.  He  forgot  himself.  It  was 
his  aspiration  that  All  Saints  should  be  surrounded 
in  Worcester  by  four  other  parishes,  named  after 
the  Evangelists.  This  he  lived  to  see,  in  St.  Matthews,' 
the  first,  and  Matthew  John  Whittall,  a  warden; 
St.  John's,  the  second,  and  Edmund  Barton;  St. 
Mark's,  the  third,  and  Orlando  Whitney  Norcross 
and  Charles  A.  Allen,  wardens;  and  St.  Luke's,  the 
fourth.  His  liberality  of  thought  brought  him  the 
sympathy  of  all,  whether  they  went  into  his  church  or 
not.  He  received  and  declined  many  a  prosperous 
call.  When  urged  to  accept  one  of  these  calls,  and 
that  he  had  earned  comfort,  he  replied,  without 
malevolence : — 

''Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan.'' 

When  he  was  called  to  Grace  Church,  New  York, 
he  went.  He  had  well  earned  that  recognition.  No 
one  suspected  his  family  of  packing  their  trunks 
at  the  same  time  as  they  prayed  for  divine  guidance 
on  the  question  of  this  call.  His  son,  Frank,  became 
a  New  York  lawyer.  Madge  Huntington  has  shown 
much  skill  as  a  portrait  painter.     Theresa   married 

54 


SMITH'S     BARN 

Royal  Robbins  of  the  great  watch  makers  of  Waltham 
and  Hves  in  Brookhne;  and  Mary  married  a  brilHant 
Boston  lawyer,  William  G.  Thompson. 

We  boys  had  a  high  respect  for  Rufus  Stanley 
Woodward  because  he  had  caught  for  Amherst. 
His  son,  Stanley,  carries  on  as  a  talented  corre- 
spondent of  The  Boston  Herald.  Dr.  Lemuel  Fox 
Woodward  for  years  took  a  class  in  rowing  and 
swimming  to  the  lake  before  he  gave  himself  up 
exclusively  to  sounding  successfully  abdomens  for 
an  appendix.  Few  physicians  more  than  he  have 
the  confidence  of  their  patients.  Ralph  Woodward 
was  very  skilful  in  making  the  most  exquisite  toy 
wagons  which  he  sold  to  the  boys  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

The  Gage  family,  each  and  all,  never  fell  below 
ninety  per  cent,  at  school.  Both  sons  became  mem- 
bers of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  at  Harvard,  It  is 
significant  that  both  Homer  Gage  and  his  father, 
Thomas  Hovey  Gage,  Senior,  have  been  leaders  of 
the  medical  profession  in  Worcester.  It  has  not 
been  genteel  to  die  except  under  their  care,  if  this 
may  be  safely  said.  Of  this  school,  later  came 
Frederick  Herbert  Baker.  He  is  a  loyal  son  of 
Yale.  He  was  quite  an  artist  at  the  pivotal  bag 
in  his  college  days.  Had  achievement,  with  him, 
kept  step  with  his  splendid  sporting  spirit,  he  would 
have  been  a  McConkey  or  a  Calhoun  upon  the  dia- 
mond.   At  sunset  his  nether  limbs  turned  with  relief 

55 


SMITH'S    BARN 

to  the  showers  and  the  friendly  seclusion  of  civilian 
clothes.  Man  is  not  always  what  he  appears  to  be. 
He  dreams  of  his  Alma  Mater,  but  the  crescendo 
of  Harvard  in  recent  years  has  led  him  into  more 
careful  speech  when  outside  his  own  domain.  Thomas 
Hovey  Gage,  Junior,  is  a  leader  of  the  bar  and 
a  successful  trustee.  When  men  can  not  have  their 
money  in  their  own  pockets  they  are  content  to 
have  it  in  his.  He  declined  an  appointment  to  the 
Superior  Bench  by  Eben  Sumner  Draper  in  1909. 
The  Woodward  house  stands  as  it  did.  The  Gage 
house  and  stable  are  razed. 

Mabel  Knowles  Gage,  the  wife  of  Homer  Gage, 
has  established  herself  close  to  the  foot-lights  by 
her  tact  and  ceaseless  energy.  Where  fashion  flourishes 
or  the  needy  walk,  there  has  she  been  seen.  She 
was  a  power  in  the  war  in  Worcester  and  over  seas. 
As  a  child,  she  planted  the  fleur  de  lis  in  W^orcester. 
It  has  taken  vigorous  root.  It  has  not  been  shadowed 
and  withered  in  fast  company,  by  the  thistle  of  the 
Moens  and  James  Logan,  or,  in  a  rapidly  becoming 
cosmopolitan  city,  by  the  composite  crest  of  the 
Cromptons,  Saint  George  and  the  Dragon  and  the 
Shamrock. 

Going  back  to  Elm  street,  Isaac  Davis  was  an  old 
time  country  squire  who  developed  a  country  law 
practice  into  a  fortune  by  wise  investments  in  real 
estate  and  business.  He  built  as  a  residence  the 
present  Worcester  Club.     He  was  a  man  of  high 

56 


SMITH'S    BARN 

principle.  He  headed  a  family,  one  of  those  few 
which  could  rival  in  quantity  the  houses  of  Montague 
and  Capulet.  In  later  life  he  remained  at  home  in 
the  afternoon  and  his  white  head  over  his  window 
screen  was  a  common  sight  to  the  boys.  The  same 
window  there  now  is  differently  decorated,  more 
quantity  but  not  more  quality.  The  Davis  family 
was  inventoried  with  the  aid  of  a  counting  machine 
at  something  like  six  daughters  and  three  sons, 
like  the  Crompton  family.  Florence,  who  later 
became  the  Countess  de  Brosse,  now  lies  in  Pere 
la  Chaise.  She  drove  a  high-lifed  bay  pony,  the  only 
pony  we  knew  who  drove  on  the  curb.  A  whip,  which 
with  us  was  a  vital  part  of  the  furniture  of  a  carriage, 
with  that  pony  was  a  superfluity.  We  still  remember 
the  f ringed-top  pony  carriage. 

The  Davis  family  was  a  family  essentially  of  bril- 
liant raconteurs.  The  torch  they  laid  down  William 
Bacon  Scofield  took  up.  They  shone  more  in  romance 
perhaps  than  in  history.  They  were  not  hobbled  by 
facts.  Joseph  E.  Davis  was  the  father  of  Lincoln 
Davis  who  rowed  on  the  Harvard  Varsity  Crew. 
Joseph  E.  Davis  might  stand  on  this  distinction 
alone.  Lincoln  Davis  is  now  an  interior  decorator, 
one  of  the  best  surgeons  in  Boston.  His  mother 
was  a  Lincoln,  of  the  house  of  Waldo.  To  be  a 
Lincoln  in  Worcester  was  and  is  enough.  Edward 
Livingston  Davis,  having  materially  augmented  in 
the  Washburn  Iron  Company  what  he  had  inherited, 

57 


SMITH'S    BARN 

gave  his  life  largely  to  good  works.  He  did  much 
to  make  All  Saints'  Church  what  it  is.  Incidentally, 
he  was  president  of  the  Rural  Cemetery  Corporation 
and  leavened  the  meetings  of  the  board,  a  strong 
background  for  humor,  with  the  family  wit.  It  is 
said,  undoubtedly  without  foundation,  that  he  asked 
a  workingman  on  his  grounds  whether  he  would  like 
a  glass  of  beer.  He  replied,  as  Mr.  Davis  tells  the 
story: — *'Did  I  hear  the  voice  of  an  angel.f^"  None 
of  these  Da  vises  were  more  brilliant  than  Sarah,  who 
later  married  a  Judge,  William  Sewell  Gardner. 
One  of  us  fellers  asked  her  the  name  of  her  husband. 
When  she  replied,  "William,"  he  said: — "Why, 
the  same  name  as  our  goat."  She  was  an  intimate 
of  Frances  Helen  Ranlet  Rice,  a  woman  of  great 
personal  charm,  the  first  wife  of  William  Ellis  Rice. 
Christine  Rice  Gillett,  the  wife  of  Speaker  Gillett, 
is  her  daughter.  Those  who  know  her  can  understand 
this  strong  praise  of  her  mother. 

Charles  Davis,  another  son,  built  the  house  where 
George  Anthony  Gaskill  now  lives.  None  of  the 
Davises  could  tell  a  story  better  than  he.  He  was 
once  asked,  so  he  said,  to  examine  a  genuine  Satsuma 
vase,  two  feet  high,  owned  by  one  of  his  sisters  and 
alleged  by  her  to  be  two  thousand  years  old.  He 
was  a  connoisseur.  He  was  somewhat  incredulous, 
for  such  an  objet  d'art  in  his  opinion  was  beyond 
the  price  of  Worcester.  However,  he  made  the  trip. 
On  his  return,  he  rushed  through  the  hall  into  the 

58 


SMITH'S    BARN 

kitchen,  tore  off  his  coat  and  plunged  his  arm  to  the 
elbow  into  a  flour  barrel.  When  a  sympathetic  wife 
curiously  interrogated  him,  he  replied: — "I  took 
Mary's  two  thousand  year  old  genuine  Satsuma  vase 
in  my  arms,  carelessly,  and  I  am  badly  burned. 

''It's  hot  from  the  kiln.'' 

He  had  his  moments  of  low  spirits  which  showed  at 
times  in  the  expression  of  his  face.  When  a  photo- 
grapher once  asked  him  to  look  pleasant,  he  ob- 
served:— "Have  you  the  instantaneous  process.^" 
He  could  not  carry  a  smile  long,  even  when  the 
photographer  jingled  a  bunch  of  keys,  as  he  did 
with  us  fellers. 

Of  the  generation  of  us  boys,  a  word  of  Eliza  and 
Theresa,  the  daughters  of  Edward  Livingston  Davis. 
Eliza  later  married  and  died  in  France.  When  she 
walked  with  any  one  of  us  boys  it  was  because  she 
liked  him,  for  she  could  outrun  any  one  of  us.  There- 
sa was  the  prettiest  girl  in  Worcester.  This  statement 
will  not  be  challenged  by  any  one  fit  to  express  an 
opinion.  Hence,  she  naturally  married  outside  of 
Worcester,  in  Boston,  which  carried  a  larger  stock 
of  desirable  husbands.  Her  daughter  may  properly 
be  said  to  have  cut  much  ice,  being  the  international 
woman  champion  fancy  ice-skater. 

In  the  house  where  George  Tufts  Dewey  now  lives 
was  the  [Child  family,  a  family  of  some  size.  One 
of  the  boys  married  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Justice  Harlan 

59 


SMITH'S    BARN 

of  the  Supreme  Court.  H.  Walter  Child  married 
Suzanne  Messenger  and  became  the  father  of  Richard 
Washburn  Child,  who  is  a  notable  writer.  His  rise 
was  rapid  and  sure  when  he  began  to  write  his  name 
in  full.  He  is  now  Ambassador  to  Italy.  Enough  for 
H.  Walter  Child.  Anna  Child  married  Charles 
Sumner  Bird,  a  large  manufacturer  at  East  Walpole. 
She  might  easily  have  rested  on  this  distinction.  He 
is  the  first  political  layman  of  Massachusetts,  in- 
dependent, fearless,  sound  and  of  high  ideals.  She 
has  now  become  the  first  political  lay  woman.  Poli- 
tical aspirants,  including  one  Henry  C.  Lodge, 
moderator  of  the  town  of  Nahant,  seek  first  the 
support  of  the  Birds.  Anna  Child  Bird  is  the  mother 
by  marriage  of  Robert  Bass,  former  Governor  of  New 
Hampshire.  She  is  the  aunt  of  the  American  Am- 
bassador. She  was  the  first  chairman  of  the  Woman's 
Division  of  the  Republican  State  Committee,  and 
was  made  by  President  Harding  a  member  of  the 
Advisory  Council  to  the  Disarmament  Conference. 
She  was  the  organizer  and  is  the  first  president  of 
the  Women's  Republican  Club  of  Massachusetts.  She 
is  efficient  and  tactful  with  a  strong  civic  interest.  It 
was  unfortunate  for  Worcester  when  she  was  tempted 
out  of  the  town.     She  has  lived  out  the  words: — 

''And  a  little  child  shall  lead  them.'' 

The  Crompton  family  has  maintained  its  promi- 
nence in  Worcester  in  every  way.    Few  families  have 

60 


SMITH'S    BARN 

done  this  over  a  period  of  fifty  years.  George 
Crompton,  ably  aided  by  Horace  Wyman,  built  up 
the  old  Crompton  loom  works.  Mrs.  Crompton,  a 
motherly  woman  with  a  forceful  personality,  has 
made  of  her  children  the  most  adhesive  family  in 
Worcester.  She  was  the  leader  of  the  laity  of  her 
church  in  Worcester,  to  whom  all  turned  with  their 
joys  and  sorrows.  To  the  head  of  this  family,  her 
daughter,  Isabelle  Crompton,  succeeded.  Of  the 
living  sons,  George  Crompton  has  administered 
faithfully  a  number  of  business  trusts,  Randolph 
Crompton  has  the  inventive  talents  of  his  father. 
Both  have  co-operated  in  the  outdoor  life  of  the  city 
and  county. 

The  Bullock  family  has  long  been  strongly  en- 
trenched in  the  town.  They  have  administered 
great  trusts  with  intelligence  and  .fidelity.  The 
founder  of  this  house,  Alexander  Hamilton  Bullock, 
the  first,  was  a  scholarly  gentleman.  He  was  Gover- 
nor in  1866,  1867  and  1868.  Curiously,  no  Worcester 
city  name  has  been  on  the  State  ticket  since  his, 
fifty-five  years  ago.  We  well  remember  when  he 
was  stricken  on  Elm  street,  carried  into  the  house  of 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith  and  died.  His  son,  Augus- 
tus George  Bullock,  and  Rockwood  Hoar,  were  great 
pedestrians,  holding  the  Worcester — Princeton  record, 
three  hours  and  twenty  minutes  down  to  Worcester. 
Mr.  Bullock  walked  to  Brooks  Station  each  morning 
from   Princeton   in   the   summer.      Mary   Chandler 

61 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Bullock,  his  wife,  is  known  for  that  great  quality, 
a  loyal  friend.  Chandler  Bullock,  the  Prince  of 
Wales  of  the  family,  is  now  the  president  of  the  Five 
Cents  Savings  Bank,  known  by  some  as  "The 
Nickleodeon  Bank,"  where  he  protects  the  pennies 
of  the  poor.  It  is  significant  that  he  has  been  the 
first  boy  to  call  that  board  to  order,  his  preceding 
presidents  having  been  at  least  seventy  years  old 
each.  He  married  Mabel  Ellen  Richardson,  born  on 
Harvard  street,  the  easiest  street  in  Worcester 
from  which  to  shop,  that  is  when  the  sidewalks  are 
iced.  She  became  a  large  part  of  the  partnership. 
She  has  not  wavered  for  Welsh  rare-bits  or  flippant 
fashion,  for  no  one  has  done  more  than  she  to  keep 
the  Bullock  family  on  the  high  plane  where  she 
found  it.  Chandler  and  his  brothers,  Alexander 
Hamilton  Bullock  and  Rockwood  Hoar  Bullock, 
were  brought  up  amid  the  simple  pleasures  of 
Princeton.  There  Alexander  Bullock  played  with 
Salem  Charles,  when  they  were  looked  upon  with 
suspicion  by  trout,  fox  and  partridge,  while  Rock- 
wood,  with  children  crying  for  bread  in  W^orcester, 
snared  almost  every  business  risk  there  was  in  the 
town.  And  now  the  story  of  **  Fedra  ".  In  Princeton, 
the  Bullock  boys  are  remembered  by  the  sporting 
world  as  the  joint  possessors  of  a  small  black  goat, 
named  Fedra.  Providence  early  decreed  that  these 
out-door  affiliations  of  theirs  should  be  short-lived 
and  that  they  should  retire  to  other  worlds  for  con- 

62 


SMITH'S    BARN 

quest.  Fedra  died  a  violent  death  "at  the  hands," 
may  it  be  said,  of  a  dog  of  composite  breeds,  *'Pax," 
strangely  named,  the  property  of  Phineas  A.  Beaman, 
the  Herman  Ricker  of  the  town.  Pax  mistook 
Fedra  for  a  piece  of  gum,  "Wrigley's  P-K-Chew- 
ing  Sweet,"  and  acted  accordingly.  It  might  be  added 
that  Chandler  Bullock  is  also  counsel  for  the  State 
Mutual  Company.  From  the  top  of  the  building 
is  a  glimpse  of  Wachusett,  and  when  one  looks 
down  onto  Main  street  his  uncle  looks  like  an  ant. 

One  whole  paragraph  is  here  cheerfully  conceded 
exclusively  to  Florence  Armsby,  wife  of  Alexander 
Hamilton  Bullock,  for  she  has  established  her- 
self as  a  mother-in-law  who  is  looked  upon  with 
affection.  This  is  to  do  much.  It  was  as  a  school 
girl  that  she  touched  the  peak,  where  she  was  never 
rated  below  95  per  cent.,  that  is,  outside  the  class 
room.  Walking  down  Walnut  street  or  up  Harring- 
ton avenue,  with  a  locket  about  her  neck  and  carry- 
ing a  few,  a  very  few  books  for  form,  she  was  very, 
very  nice.  When  mothers  missed  their  sons  they 
called  up  Harrington  avenue  where  the  hat  tree 
was  like  unto  a  retail  store  in  that  line.  Some  time 
at  the  Hotel  Kirby  in  Grafton  she  made  of  it  a 
Ponce-de-Leon.  She  has  now  finally  anchored  with 
rare  propriety  on  a  street  named  Fruit. 

Henry  M.  Witter  was  also  an  officer  of  the  State 
Mutual  Company.  He  was  a  kindly  man.  He  had 
many  friends.     They  make  life  worth  while.     He 

63 


SMITH'S    BARN 

was  at  one  time  superintendent  of  the  road  to  Peter- 
borough, known  as  the  Boston,  Barre  and  Gardner 
Railroad.  It  did  not  begin  at  Boston,  go  through 
Barre  or  stop  at  Gardner.  Hence  the  name.  Harry 
Worcester  Smith  was  formerly  Henry  Witter  Smith, 
but  later  took  his  father's  middle  name.  In  the 
summer  the  Witter  family  lived  in  a  passenger  car  at 
Brooks'  Station.  Mr.  Witter  and  his  son  of  the  same 
name  were  like  brothers.  The  son  was  sometimes 
called  "Bunny."  When  he  died,  his  father  was 
much  overcome  and  he  said,"  Hal,  I  will  be  with  you 
before  long."  He  was,  and  hearts  were  touched 
beyond  the  circle  of  his  kin. 

Hats  off,  all  standing,  in  the  presence  of  Jerome 
Rowley  George  and  George  Spring  Taft.  In  the 
old  days  William  Ellis  Rice  was  looked  at  most  when 
dressed  for  parade.  These  two  prospects,  Taft  and 
George,  in  the  hands  of  the  right  trainer  could  easily 
be  made  in  appearance  the  two  most  striking  men  in 
Worcester.  Affection  is  not  always  blind,  when  this 
proposition  their  kinsmen  discriminatingly  endorse. 
Silk  hats,  which  suffer  from  nostalgia  on  some  heads, 
could  be  made  to  grow  out  of  theirs.  These  two  men, 
born  on  farms  if  not  in  log  cabins,  so  might  with  some 
reason  have  entertained  aspirations  for  the  White 
House.  Taft  came  into  Worcester  in  1876  under  the 
patronage  of  a  kinsman,  Judge  Henry  Chapin. 
Because  of  his  social  pliability,  Worcester  lavished 
its  hospitality  upon  him.     He  was  a  stranger  to  a 

64 


SMITHS     BARN 

board  bill  and  was  known  at  times  to  sit  up  close  to 
fruit  cocktails  in  shirts  of  others,  but  temporarily  his 
own.  Preeminently,  he  is  the  father  of  twins,  having 
succeeded  to  a  distinction  which  Halleck  Bartlett 
alone  long  enjoyed. 

Jerome  Rowley  George,  born  in  Ohio,  went  into 
the  cellar  of  the  Illinois  Steel  Company  and  came 
out  as  its  chief  engineer,  thereby  qualifying  for  the 
fastest  kind  of  manufacturing  competition  in  Wor- 
cester. He  lives  on  the  Champs  Elysee  and  has 
bought  the  Smith  place  adjoining,  for  a  playground 
for  his  children,  which  has  become  another  Jerome 
Park.  Strangely,  like  the  chameleon,  when  at  his 
business  he  is  all  head,  elsewhere  all  heart.  He  has 
been  generous  with  his  money,  and  more  than  this, 
with  his  time  and  thought.  Of  another  school  is 
Charles  Lucius  Allen,  whose  edges  are  all  bevelled, 
who  steps  staccato,  and  whose  feet,  like  those  of  the 
thoroughbred,  touch  lightly  upon  the  highway.  He, 
too,  is  known  for  his  good  works,  notably  with  La 
Croix  Rouge. 

Three  children  lived  in  the  old  Bacon  house  at 
the  corner  of  Linden  street,  William  Stearns,  Harold 
Stearns  and  Fanny  Stearns  Davis.  It  is  apparent 
from  the  names  that  their  mother  had  forgiven  her 
father,  who  was  president  Stearns  of  Amherst 
College.  They  were  the  most  brilliant  children 
ever  seen  on  Elm  street  or  any  street.  William 
wrote  "A  Friend  of  Caesar",  at  22,  which  age  is 

65 


SMITH'S    BARN 

legal  evidence;  there  is  no  better  read  lawyer  than 
Harold,  who  is  also  a  deacon  under  George  Gordon 
and  a  passer  of  the  plate  but  trusted  financially 
however  in  a  side-aisle  only;  and  Fanny,  now  married 
and  living  in  Pittsfield,  is  a  writer  recognized  by 
that  great  arbiter,  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  Imagina- 
tion is  strong  in  children  and  the  essence  and  life 
of  their  play.  They  ride  a  kitchen  mop  with  all 
the  realistic  charm  of  the  English  thoroughbred  to 
the  mature.  These  children  instituted  a  Kingdom 
of  Motland  and  carried  safely  imaginations  which 
would  have  retired  others  to  retreats.  Asleep  in 
their  cradles,  they  prattled  the  classics  with  as 
much  facility  as  the  native  born  papooses  struggled 
with  slang. 

There  has  been  but  one  Benjamin  Thomas  Hill. 
He  is  a  pronounced  individualist.  Isaiah  Thomas 
was  a  great  name  in  the  old  days  after  the  first 
Curtis  fearfully  watched  the  fires  of  the  Indians 
from  his  farm  on  Lincoln  street.  The  Curtis  stock 
has  always  been  a  sturdy  stock,  now  well  upheld 
by  the  three  brothers,  Edwin  P.,  John  D.  and 
William  R.  Curtis.  When  Ben  Hill  strolls  upon 
the  street,  his  pedometer  shows  easily  five  miles 
each  and  every  hour.  He  generally  reaches  his 
terminus  shortly  before  he  starts.  His  law  office 
is  the  ideal  lair  of  an  antiquary,  where  fancy  de- 
termines the  arrangement  of  its  treasures  and  not 
order.     The  only  open  spot  to  rest  a  hat  or  coat  is 

66 


SMITH'S    BARN 

the  ceiling,  which  is  always  kept  neat.  Strong 
praise.  The  sire  of  Benjamin  Thomas  Hill  was  a 
conveyancer  of  the  old  school,  writing  like  copy- 
plate  with  an  abundance  of  red-inked  lines.  No 
physician  despaired  of  a  patient  whose  will  J.  Henry 
Hill  had  not  drawn.  He  was  the  Charles  Martin 
Thayer  of  those  days.  The  son  has  shown  his 
inheritance  in  the  illumination  of  books,  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  led  the  monks  of  old  to  jeopardize 
the  tenth  commandment. 

Dr.  Willard  Scott  and  Dr.  Frank  Crane  were 
at  one  time  each  at  the  head  of  a  great  Worcester 
church.  Strangely,  not  until  they  turned  from  the 
prophets  to  the  profits  did  they  reach  the  top  of 
their  influence,  or  find  more  than  one  savings  bank 
necessary.  Scott  has  established  himself  over  the 
country,  for  substance  and  humor,  on  the  lecture 
platform;  and  Crane  is  now  read  from  Boston  to 
San  Francisco.  Their  histories  ought  to  stimulate 
recruits  for  the  ministry,  from  which  port  they  set 
sail. 

There  was  a  sensation  in  Worcester  when  Waldo 
Sessions  sold  to  Philip  L.  Moen  a  pair  of  black 
coach  horses  for  $3000.  In  these  days,  your  blanchis- 
seuse  works  only  where  she  can  park  her  car,  and 
Harry  Doe  in  the  old  days  wrote  of  a  dance  where 
those  who  came  were  so  poor  they  came,  not  in 
the  horse-cars,  but  on  their  wheels.  These  horses 
were  suffering  from  melancholia,  were  losing  their 

67 


SMITH'S    BARN 

knee  action,  and  sought  a  rest  from  business  and  a 
change  of  atmosphere.  The  Sessions  family  is  an 
institution  through  three  generations;  first  George; 
then  Waldo  and  Frank;  and  now  Waldo  Eugene 
Sessions,  Jr.  In  the  conduct  of  their  business  they 
have  shown  throughout  an  eflSciency,  sympathy 
and  delicacy,  which  has  stirred  the  admiration  of 
all.  None  of  them  has  been  more  of  an  artist  in 
his  business  than  Waldo  Eugene.  Waldo  Sessions, 
Senior,  was  a  mason  of  high  standing  and  of  wide 
popularity.  He  was  at  his  best  around  the  stove 
at  Kendrick's  stable  on  Trumbull  street.  W^hen  the 
motor  came  in,  Kendrick  went  out.  Waldo  Sessions 
and  Ned  Kendrick  were  raconteurs  of  high  order. 
When  some  one  once  asked  Waldo  how  his  father 
was,  he  naturally  replied: — 

^^  Father  dorit  climb  up  on  to  a  hearse  quite  as  cheerful 
as  he  used  to,'' 

Physicians  like  Henry  Clarke,  Thomas  Gage  and 

George  Francis,  saw  us  first,  and  Sessions  and  Sons 

last. 

They  were  our  Alpha  and  Omega 


CHAPTER  7 
Primers,  Primaries  and  Polish 

In  the  promise  of  the  scriptural  words,  "Cast 
thy  net  on  the  right  side,"  the  catch  ought  to  con- 
tinue to  be  a  great  one,  as  these  memories  proceed 
cautiously  along  their  path  in  the  perhaps  impossible 
hope  that  none  of  the  interesting  shall  be  forgotten 
or  mishandled. 

In  those  old  days  the  small  boys  sought  to  develop 
what  by  courtesy  might  have  been  called  their 
minds  at  Oxford  street  or  in  the  old  school  house 
on  Walnut  street.  One  of  them,  entered  at  the 
early  age  of  three  by  ambitious  parents,  laid  in  the 
first  grade  for  three  years,  suffering  from  an  intel- 
lectual hot-box.  Later  he  showed  much  success 
in  reaching  terminals  as  did  the  tortoise  of  fabled 
days.  In  those  years  at  Oxford  street  were  held 
the  old  Ward  8  primaries  called  then  caucuses. 
Those  were  good  days.  Then  the  candidates  came 
with  their  own  ballots  and  could  become  candidates 
any  time  before  the  polls  closed.  Every  one  knew 
how  his  neighbor  voted.  These  caucuses  had  a 
charm  of  their  own,  now  emasculated  by  the  elaborate 
machinery  of  our  present  election  laws.  Then  the 
virile,  fighting  Ernest  H.  Vaughan  would  place  in 
nomination  some  hopeful  political  colt  and  stir  the 

69 


SMITH'S    BARN 

electorate  as  he  best  could.  His  speech  nominating 
Charles  M.  Rogers,  a  candidate  for  the  common 
council  and  a  baker  on  Pleasant  street,  was  written 
by  Rogers  in  the  Rogers  family  Bible.  The  yeast 
Rogers  put  into  his  bread,  Vaughan  put  into  Rogers' 
politics.  Vaughan  in  his  punchant  qualities  is  a 
replica  of  Frank  P.  Goulding. 

Here  Eben  Francis  Thompson  was  consecrated 
for  the  legislature  with  becoming  ceremony.  This 
honor  he  digested  modestly.  For  two  consecutive 
years,  in  a  speech  tattooed  into  our  memories,  this 
was  his  preamble: — 

^'Gentlemen,  I  should  indeed  be  a  churl  were  I  not 
overcome  by  this  expression  of  your  confidences^ 

stimulating  among  the  people  a  sale  of  lexicons  and 
the  study  of  Shakespeare  of  which  he  has  become  a 
master.  When  in  after  years  Eben  Thompson 
touched  his  peak  with  his  Rubaiyat,  then  William 
Bacon  Scofield,  always  his  loyal  champion,  opened 
his  house  to  him  for  a  reading,  and  then  said  to  him 
in  the  colloquial: — 

"Eben,  you  have  arrived,'' 

adding,  in  substance,  that  he  should  now  suggest  to 
the  aborigines,  who  had  long  sat  in  judgment  on  him, 
that  they  hurry  to  a  place  where  clothes  are  bought 
last  and  ice  first.  Bacon,  vous  avez  raison,  for  the 
great  then  made  a  high  place  for  Eben  who  had 

70 


SMITH'S    BARN 

found  constant  kindliness  and  courtesy  strong  auxi- 
liary weapons  for  recognition. 

At  the  Walnut  street  school  Miss  Rounds  was  a 
strict  disciplinarian  feared  by  the  boys  while  Miss 
Thomas  would  have  been  voted  the  most  popular 
teacher.  With  Miss  Thomas,  even  in  those  early 
days,  Charles  Martin  Thayer  had  preempted  the 
pole  and  came  close,  as  he  only  safely  could,  to 
holding  the  delicate  position  of 

"Teacher's  Petr 

This  he  did  with  a  large,  red,  rosey  apple,  plucked 
daily  from  the  Thayer  orchard.  Three  of  the  boys 
organized  a  club  known  as  "The  L.  M.  C."  or 
"Last  Minute  Club,"  the  purpose  of  which  was  to 
leave  the  yard  of  Charles  Douglas  Wheeler  at  8.59 
A.  M.  and  reach  their  seats,  if  possible,  when  the  bell 
rang  at  9.00  a.  m.  This  Club  became  demoralized, 
and  dissipated  itself  when  one  of  the  members 
happened  to  fall  upon  a  banana  peel  when  turning 
the  corner  at  the  entrance  to  the  school  premises. 
This  later  led  Dr.  Wheeler  to  specialize  as  a  pro- 
fessional adept  with  a  fractured  ankle.  In  the  attic 
of  this  building  was  born  and  long  lived  The  Eucleia 
Debating  Society  where  Michael  Doran  was  one  of 
its  ablest  members.  He  was  a  great  Irishman  and 
when  he  spoke  the  members  all  came  in  from  the 
fire  escapes.  For  the  first  grade  in  this  school,  the 
mothers  attempted  to  interest  their  boys  in  their 

71 


SMITH'S    BARN 

dress.  Brushing  his  hair,  a  mother  said  one  morning 
to  her  son: — "Do  you  remember  how  when  I  visited 
your  school  I  was  very  careful  with  my  clothes  and 
white  gloves,  for  I  wanted  you  to  be  proud  of  me?" 
"Well,"  the  boy  replied: — "you  did  not  succeed 
very  well,  for  when  you  went  out  of  the  room  one  of 
the  scholars,"  and  every  one  then  who  went  to 
school  was  not  a  pupil  but  a  scholar,  "said  to  me: — 

'What,  is  that  old  fatty,  your  mother?'  " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  street  we  went  later  to  the 
High  School.  Here  Miss  Parkhurst  was  of  the  best. 
She  addressed  her  charges  often  in  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, "Discipuli,  sedite  ad  perpendiculum,"  who 
sat  as  unresponsive  as  when  at  Harvard  the  graduat- 
ing class  was  invited  by  President  Eliot  to  come 
forward  for  their  degrees,  but  in  lingua  latina,  when 
no  one  moved.  Here  A,  Carey  Field,  of  blessed 
memory,  a  scholar  and  as  faithful  a  teacher  as  ever 
lived,  taught  us  in  his  peculiar  way  of  "the  Geeks 
and  Barbayuns  and  vayous  kinds  of  chayut  yaces." 
A  brilliant  pupil  of  his  was  a  young  woman  named 
Upham  who  later  graduated  from  college  with  high 
credit.  In  her  library  an  interlinear  was  unknown. 
We  knew  little  else.  It  was  a  custom  of  Mr.  Field 
when  he  was  conducting  a  recitation  to  hurry 
rapidly  and  formally  over  the  names  of  all  the  West 
Side  boys,  never  stopping  until  he  reached  the  name 
of  Upham,  having  learned  that  none  of  the  others 

72 


SMITH'S    BARN 

would  or  could  respond.  Asking  one  of  us,  one  day, 
as  to  which  accent  hung  over  a  Greek  word  and  re- 
ceiving the  groping  reply,  "A  zugma,"  Mr.  Field 
cried,  "Zugma,  you  might  as  well  say,  saw-horse, 
iota  subscript."  George  Bosworth  Churchill,  now  a 
professor  at  Amherst  College  and  a  former  leader  of 
the  State  senate,  was  the  most  brilliant  pupil  in  that 
school  or  any  school.  He  might  be  properly  described 
as  a  scholar  and  not  a  pupil.  When  us  fellers  faltered, 
which  was  often,  then  was  called  in  Mrs.  Sarah 
Brigham,  an  accomplished  public  and  private  teach- 
er. We  needed  her.  She  kneaded  us.  William  F. 
Abbott  survived  Mr.  Field  and  got  many  of  us  into 
Harvard  which  was  enough  to  say  of  any  man, 
considering  his  raw  material.  One  of  these  boys 
once  opened  a  speech  before  The  Sumner  Club  with 
these  words,  "Tonight,  I  am  a  member  of  the 
Worcester  High  School.  In  one  month,  I  shall  be  an 
alumni."  His  name  is  not  recorded  here  because  he 
is  now  the  father  of  grown  children  whose  respect 
he  is  attemping  with  some  success  to  hold.  It  is  an 
unhappy  fact  that  one  of  us  fellers  languished  in  the 
freshman  class  at  Harvard  for  three  long  years. 
It  is  an  old  custom  to  lift  up  on  to  the  platform  at 
Commencement  the  oldest  living  graduate,  and 
the  story  is  told  that  this  wretched  freshman,  as  an 
amendment  to  this  beautiful  custom,  was  asked  to 
sit  with  the  oldest  living  graduate  as  the  oldest 
living  undergraduate. 

73 


SMITHES    BARN 

In  this  manner  were  us  fellers  polished  as  by  an 
emery  wheel  made  of  alundum,  a  product  which  has 
made  a  household  word  of  the  names  of  George  Ira 
Alden,  Charles  Lucius  Allen,  the  Jepsons,  father 
and  son,  and  Aldus  ChapinHiggins,  from  Greendale's 
icy  mountains  to  the  savages  upon  India's  coral 
strand. 


74 


CHAPTER  8 

Blue  and  Red  Ribbons 

The    Honorable    Frank    Palmer    Goulding    once 
said : — 

"//  it  were  not  for  the  sunshine  of  life. 
We  could  not  survive  its  shadows." 

This  doctrine  will  be  read  with  small  sympathy 
by  those  surprisingly  many  who  believe  rather  in 
its  inverse,  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  shadows  of 
life  we  could  not  survive  its  sunshine,  and  who 
exist  only  by  the  excitement  of  misery.  The  neurolo- 
gist will  say,  if  the  credit  of  the  patient  is  good, 
that  this  is  an  insidious  type  to  cure.  A  tragedy, 
overdone  by  a  mediocre  stock  company,  seen  from 
the  front  seats  of  the  pit,  is  a  comedy.  At  one  of 
these,  where  the  Queen  of  Scots  was  saying  farewell 
to  her  attendants,  a  young  man  sat  convulsed  with 
laughter.  A  woman  beside  him,  with  the  tears 
running  down  her  face,  said,  "Young  man,  if 
you  can  not  enjoy  this  play  yourself,  there  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  destroy  all  my  pleasure." 
Some  women  particularly  find  a  strong,  unconscious 
satisfaction  in  writing  a  sixteen-page  letter  of  con- 
dolence. At  the  breakfast  table  on  a  clear  bracing 
morning,  when  life  looks  good  to  the  young,  the 
girls  wondering  whether  they  can  get  a  gown  out 

75 


SMITHS    BARN 

of  Father,  and  the  boys  a  white  waistcoat  out  of 
Mother,  she  contributes  this  cheer: — "Forty  years 
ago,  today,  your  Aunt  Hattie  was  killed  in  an  elevator 
well  at  Sherer's;"  or  again: — "This  is  the  twentieth 
anniversary  of  the  death  of  your  Uncle  Elmer,  who 
was  struck  by  a  falling  sign  in  a  high  gale."  This 
jars  the  young  and  they  fail  to  respond.  Such 
mothers  as  these  revel  in  gloom,  and  others  who 
are  not  mothers.  To  some  facing  shredded  wheat 
in  the  early  hours  of  the  day,  the  news  of  illness 
among  the  neighbors  is  an  appetizer  like  a  cock-tail. 
When  some  child  of  a  house  is  drawn  by  the  hands 
towards  such  with  the  words,  "  Are  you  sure  you're 
quite  well,  my  little  fellow?"  the  temptation  is 
great  for  the  host  to  hospitably  reply.  Yes,  he 
is  in  an  alarming  condition.  These  philosophical 
observations  are  as  true  as  the  Bible.  To  such  as 
these  who  find  cheer  only  in  trouble,  the  impending 
determination  of  the  first  citizen  in  Worcester  by 
the  child's  history  will  not  strike  a  responsive  chord. 
Society  is  an  ingrate  to  the  man  who  shows  imagi- 
nation in  wit.  Few  with  this  gift  have  been  in  other 
ways  properly  recognized.  Abraham  Lincoln  was 
an  exception,  handicapped  for  years  because  of  this 
quality.  Mr.  Justice  Walter  Perley  Hall,  a  product 
of  Worcester  and  of  The  Sumner  Club,  established 
by  Charles  M.  Thayer  and  him,  has  a  strong  sense 
of  humor  but  succeeded  only  after  he  had  stifled  it. 
The  same  may  be  said  of   Clifford  Anderson.     It 

76 


SMITHS    BARN 

was  a  cruel  blow  that  Alundum  struck  the  banquet 
table  when  his  scintillations  were  smothered.  Many 
find  in  humor  their  only  oasis  and  salvation  from 
the  routine  of  life.  Naturally,  they  exercise  it. 
Unnaturally,  they  are  looked  upon  with  suspicion. 
And  yet  we  are  under  a  lasting  obligation  to  them, 
too  seldom  met  and  paid. 

When  Worcester  institutes  a  Hall  of  Fame,  no 
one  should  stand  therein  before  William  Bacon 
Scofield.  He  is  a  man  of  imagination,  wit  and  ver- 
satility. These  talents  he  has  shown  lavishly.  The 
city  of  Worcester  should  look  upon  him  as  her  first 
citizen,  most  to  be  missed  and  last  to  be  lost.  He 
turns  from  conversation  to  prose,  and  then  to  verse, 
and  then  to  chiselling  an  heroic  bust  of  George  Baker 
Long  so  that  he  resembles  a  Roman  senator.  As 
a  monologist  he  stands  alone.  The  loss  of  George 
Grossmith  is  no  longer  an  acute  but  has  become  a 
dull  pain.  Qualities  which  Scofield  could  have 
subordinated  to  selfish  sordid  financial  gain,  he  has 
freely  spread  before  those  who  have  crossed  his 
path.  By  the  discriminating  he  will  be  the  first  to 
be  remembered  and  the  last  to  be  forgotten.  He 
has  done  much  for  others  and  more  than  for  himself. 

The  gifts  with  which  William  Bacon  Scofield 
was  born  and  which  he  developed,  he  first  showed 
when  as  a  boy  of  tender  years  he  rendered: — 

"  The  hoy  stood  on  the  burning  deck,'' 
with  such  vivid  effect  that  he  was  forced  by  his 

77 


SMITH'S    BARN 

father  to  desist,  on  a  threat  from  Charles  Lemuel 
Nichols,  Junior,  then  a  very  young  insurance  agent, 
to  raise  the  fire  risk  on  the  simple  home  in  which 
they  then  dwelt.  This  was  before  the  days  when 
Edward  Davis  Thayer,  Junior,  led  his  own  immediate 
family  and  its  aflSliated  branches  into  affluence.  In 
The  Eucleia  Debating  Society,  where  Scofield  stood 
out  preeminent,  we  could  almost  see  "Horatius  at 
the  bridge,"  and  when  he  passed  on  to  a  higher  life  at 
Cambridge  he  was  long  tenderly  spoken  of  by  us  as : — 

''Our  late  bereaved,'' 

He  showed  his  individuality  by  riding  into  the  West 
Side  in  August  in  an  ancestral  Goddard  buggy  which 
needed  nothing  to  complete  its  consistency  but 
awnings.  Harry  Worcester  Smith  would  not  have 
sat  in  such  a  vehicle.  At  Harvard  college,  he  showed 
a  fine  contempt  for  high  academic  distinction  as 
a  sure  guarantee  of  future  success,  and  intimated 
with  much  grim  humor  that  the  faculty  had  con- 
spired against  him.  The  best  of  Boston  looked  upon 
him,  coming  out  of  the  democracy  of  the  Worcester 
High  School,  as  raw  material,  though  optimistic 
in  the  hope  of  developing  him  because  of  his  brilliant 
qualities.  They  set  to  work.  They  sought  to  teach 
him,  for  they  had  come  from  Beacon  street  where 
to  walk  without  a  cane  was  to  risk  arrest  as  in- 
sufficiently clothed.  They  sought  to  discourage 
his  always  cheer  and  recognition  of  those  he  knew. 

78 


SMITH'S    BARN 

They  urged  him  to  walk  the  Yard  and  yet  know  no 
one.  They  dwelt  upon  the  dangers  of  democracy 
and  emphasized  the  proposition,  that  those  who  do 
not  pursue  are  themselves  pursued.  But  Scofield 
taught  them.  He  had  learned  to  live  out  the  words 
of  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  his  legacy  to  his  children: — 

''Be  Yourself r 

At  the  reunions  of  the  Class  of  '87,  when  he  rises 
to  speak,  all  are  ready  to  exchange  mouths  for  addi- 
tional ears  and  the  whole  pit  rises  up  at  him.  And 
he  is  ours  alone. 

William  Bacon  Scofield,  we  owe  you  much.  What 
you  could  have  seized  yourself,  you  have  given  us. 
The  keys  of  the  City  of  Worcester  should  be  yours 
and  any  other  honor  which  is  ours  to  give  and  yours 
to  fancy.  Long  may  your  brilliancy  continue  to 
light  up  the  valleys  in  which  we  seek  to  struggle  on. 
The  laurel,  be-ribboned  with  blue,  is  yours. 

Saturday,  September  10th,  1888,  was  a  significant 
day  for  the  West  Side.  It  should  be  marked  by  a 
tablet  in  appropriate  form  and  placed  in  some 
prominent  square  in  the  city,  which  he  has  done  so 
much  to  mark  with  his  unique  personality.  Then 
Frank  Farnum  Dresser,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  walked 
into  Worcester  from  his  native  hamlet,  Southbridge. 
He  had  exhausted  its  educational  resources.  He  had 
turned  to  larger  fields.  He  then  rested  at  the  Ware- 
Pratt  Company  where  he  sought  to  fortify  himself 

79 


SMITH'S    BARN 

with  fresh  Hnen  for  the  impending  Sabbath,  one  shirt, 
also  one  collar  and  one  pair  of  cuffs,  all  reversible. 
This  debt  it  is  a  fact  he  did  not  then  liquidate,  but 
succeeded  in  opening  an  account  upon  the  books  of 
the  company.  This  entry  the  company  looked 
upon  with  varied  emotions.  William  Walker  John- 
son has  since  assumed  the  responsibility  for  this 
credit.  He  has  retired  from  the  firm.  He  has  moved 
out  of  Worcester.  He  is  the  grand-father  of  the  son 
of  Eben  Francis  Thompson.  At  the  democratic  hour 
of  high  noon,  Frank  Dresser  then  partook  of  the 
hospitality  of  Edward  E.  Frost  at  the  old  Lincoln 
House,  drawn  there,  undoubtedly,  instinctively  by  the 
name.  He  then  proceeded  to  Oak  avenue  where 
forthwith  he  unpacked  his  carpet  bag  in  the  most 
attractive  room  he  could  find  in  a  house  where  it 
might  be  observed,  incidentally,  George  Frisbie 
Hoar  also  resided.  The  chimes  on  Plymouth  Church 
rang  out  to  Frank  Dresser,  as  he  walked  the  streets 
of  Worcester,  another  Dick  Whittington: — 

"  You  shall  be  Lord  Mayor  of  the  Worcester 
Clubr 

These  historical  facts  cannot  be  recorded  with  too 
great  particularity.  Like  wine,  their  value  will 
augment  with  age.  Frank  Dresser  then  set  out  with 
marked  success  to  develop  his  mind  which  then  was 
but  the  raw  product  of  the  town  of  Southbridge. 
He  set  an  intellectual  pace  for  the  boys  who  played 

80 


SMITHS    BARN 

on  Elm  street  which  they  found  to  be  a  stiff  and 
embarrassing  one.  This  he  kept  at,  and  later  at 
Cambridge.  He  has  now  become  a  leader  of  the 
bar,  and  the  best  read  legal  mind  on  industrial 
problems  in  Massachusetts.  His  path  has  led  from 
the  farm  to  the  white  house.  One  of  two  red  ribbons 
is  his. 

On  December  4th,  1867,  among  the  ancient  records 
at  the  City  Hall,  may  be  found  an  entry: — 

^'Born,  a  man-child^  Charles  Martin   Thayer,'' 

This  entry  did  not  close  banks  or  tie  up  business  for 
those  who  read  it  were  not  seers.  The  first  words 
lisped  by  his  little  lips  were: — "Do  two  or  three 
witnesses  qualify  a  testamentary  devise  under  the 
law  of  the  Commonwealth  .f^"  He  had  then  deter- 
mined to  become  a  great  trustee.  Only  an  artist  of 
the  Royal  Academy  could  hope  to  portray  properly 
that  little  stranger.  "Paint  me  as  I  am,"  said  Crom- 
well. In  that  spirit  is  this  estimate  made,  fine  lines 
and  scars. 

December  4,  1867,  is  a  day  which  should  be  noted 
and,  perhaps,  recognized  annually  in  Worcester.  The 
day  might  be  marked  by  a  simple  gift  to  our  hero, 
which  he  might  consent  to  look  upon  as  a  charge 
against  our  property,  most  of  which  is  now  held  in 
trust  by  him.  Charles  Martin  Thayer  was  the  only 
boy  of  his  kind  on  the  West  Side.  There  never  will 
be   another.     The   mould   is   broken.      His   father, 

81 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Adin  Thayer,  was  a  wise  counselor  to  the  boy. 
No  father  and  son  were  more  symathetic.  In  ap- 
pearance Adin  Thayer  was  a  short,  plain  man.  With 
Senator  Hoar  and  Congressmen  Rice  and  Walker, 
they  made  interesting  the  Saturday  afternoon  meet- 
ings of  The  Massachusetts  Club  in  Boston,  our  oldest 
party  club,  when  it  was  at  its  peak,  and  his  portrait 
hangs  on  its  walls  at  Young's  Hotel.  He  was  general- 
ly to  be  found  on  his  back  piazza  in  the  early  after- 
noon smoking  a  cigar.  He  was  always  ready  to 
talk  to  us  boys  and  more  than  this  to  listen  to  us. 
He  always  came  to  the  High  School  debates.  In 
him  we  lost  a  good  friend.  His  interest  in  people 
made  him  a  respected,  political  force.  In  those  days 
no  one  went  to  the  legislature  from  old  Ward  8  with- 
out his  approval  from  his  law  office  up  one  flight 
close  to  Pearl  street.  His  benevolent  dictatorship 
in  later  years  Colonel  Theodore  Silas  Johnson  as- 
sumed. Under  the  influence  of  Adin  Thayer  the  boy 
was  early  taught  to  throw  out  over  the  slats  of  his 
cradle  the  baubles,  with  which  the  prosaic  young 
are  content,  and  to  find  his  only  pleasure  in  thought. 
He  then  knew  what  he  would  be  at  55  and  he  now 
knows  what  he  will  be  at  110.  Wisely,  he  has  no 
impatience  for  Paradise  for  he  recognizes  that  he  will 
be  no  greater  in  Heaven  than  he  now  is  on  Court 
Hill. 

No  one  then   wore  trousers.     Hence,   it  can   be 
properly  said  that  Charles  M.  Thayer,  when  he  laid 

82 


SMITH'S    BARN 

aside  his  kilts,  assumed  "pants."  The  architectural 
uniqueness  of  these  garments  of  his  nitched  him  in 
history  when  he  first  rode  that  weird  velocipede  into 
our  midst.  A  boy  in  years  he  was  then  a  man 
in  stature.  These  pants,  which  had  apparently  been 
originally  designed  to  reach  his  shoes,  because  of  his 
rapid  growth,  had  become  discouraged  and  were 
content  to  anchor  at  a  point  midway  beteeen  his 
knees  and  his  feet.  They  were  neither  long  nor 
short  pants.  No  one  dared  to  say  what  they  were. 
These  peculiar  little  pants  were  hewn  with  a  fine 
defiance  of  the  common  place,  and  yawned  at  their 
sides  for  the  child,  with  the  cutest  little  buttons  you 
ever  saw.  History  will  never  forget  their  loss  as  a 
crime.  To  the  stranger  within  our  gates,  Charles 
Martin  Thayer  was  a  cause  for  wonder,  that  a  man, 
apparently,  could  be  happy  with  playmates  of  such 
tender  age.  Some  feared  arrested  mental  develop- 
ment. Barnum  then  brought  to  Worcester  the  great 
elephant,  *' Jumbo."  The  boys  then  gave  to  Charlie 
Thayer  the  alias  of  Jumbo.  This  name,  stuck  long. 
Smith's  barn  and  a  small  bantam  house  which  has 
stood  in  the  rear  of  15  Cedar  street  for  more  than  40 
years  are  the  last  links  between  Charles  M.  Thayer 
and  outdoor  life.  For  which  reasons  the  American 
Antiquarian  Association  by  Waldo  Lincoln,  presi- 
dent, Clarence  Saunders  Brigham,  secretary,  and 
all  its  councillors,  should  absorb  this  bantam  house 
into  its  treasures,  immediately,  by  process  of  law  or 

83 


SMITH'S    BARN 

under  cover  of  night.  Some  of  his  defenders  con- 
tend that  Charles  Thayer  has  since  been  seen  on  the 
links  at  Duxbury.  When  Timothy  D wight  was 
elected  president  of  Yale,  a  western  paper  said  that 
he  was  a  man  of  erudition  but  that  he  was  entirely 
unknown  in  sporting  circles.  This  can  be  said  of 
Charles  M.  Thayer.  When  Calvin  Coolidge  was 
elected  Governor,  he  was  found  at  The  Adams  House 
in  an  inside  room  by  an  open  window  looking  into  an 
air  shaft.  When  Harvard  played  Yale  and  Charles 
M.  Thayer  was  at  college,  he  could  have  been  found 
in  an  attic  room  on  Prescott  street  reading  Roman 
history.  While  most  of  his  contemporaries  sat  upon 
the  bleachers  at  Holmes'  Field  applauding  the 
triumphs  of  others,  Charles  Martin  Thayer  con- 
tinued to  plan  his  own.  While  they  slept  he  worked. 
He  assumed  risks  as  he  only  safely  could.  He  in- 
vited as  many  as  six  young  women  to  choose  the 
color  of  his  Harvard  class  of  '89.  With  us,  their 
selections  would  have  covered  the  whole  gamut  of  the 
rainbow,  with  ensuing  complications.  With  him, 
they  all  determined  upon  magenta  and  each  was 
touched  with  the  delusion  of  exclusive  responsibility. 
With  qualities  like  these,  our  hero  could  not  turn 
away  from  Fate  when  she  pointed  direct  at  the  law 
as  a  profitable  profession  for  him.  While  we  played, 
Charles  Martin  Thayer  was  often  seen  driving  with 
some  wealthy  dowager  concerned  over  the  disposi- 
tion  of  her  testamentary  assets.      Purpose,   deter- 

84 


SMITH'S    BARN 

mination,  mystery,  adulation  and  a  personal  charm 
which  draws  have  put  him  where  he  is,  a  leader  of  the 
bar.  He  has  tied  up  at  the  dock  for  which  for  years 
he  has  sailed.  He  has  become  a  great  director  of 
financial  funerals,  the  Sessions  of  the  Orphans'  Court. 
He  has  made  heaven  care-free.  When  Charles 
Martin  Thayer  rests  his  fore-finger  upon  an  electric 
push-button,  he  marks  that  spot  as  the  habitat  of 
solvency  or  impending  dissolution  and  perhaps 
both.  Then  the  timid  become  hypochondriacs. 
The  remaining  red  ribbon  is  his.  He  has  come  into  a 
high  place  in  the  community.  He  has  the  assurance 
of  our  distinguished  consideration,  unalloyed  by 
those  mean  emotions  which  too  often  cloud  an  esti- 
mate of  success  by  those  who  have  fallen  by  the  way. 
"Render  under  Caesar  the  things  which  are  Caesars." 
Again,  hats  off,  all  standing.  His  guiding  star  has 
been  those  words: — 

''Where  there's  a  Will,  there's  a  Way.'' 


85 


CHAPTER  9 

Out  Doors  and  In  Doors.     "Cold  Blast"  and 
Champagne. 

The  pioneer  social  Club  of  the  West  Side  was  The 
Quinsigamond  Boat  Club  originally  located  on  the 
north  side  of  the  Causeway.  We  boys  still  remember 
the  impression  made  by  the  tragic  death  while 
sculling  there  of  one  of  its  members,  Harry  Williams, 
who  lived  on  Cedar  street.  He  was  an  only  son. 
This  dented  our  memories  as  do  all  the  experiences 
of  childhood,  more  than  any.  In  its  early  days  the 
Club  was  seen  much  on  the  water  both  as  a  club 
and  as  individuals.  Rockwood  Hoar  rowed  a  shell 
there.  If  the  Club  has  had  any  two  patriarchs  they 
were  James  P.  Hamilton  and  John  Heywood,  its 
first  and  staunchest  friends.  No  voices  went  further 
in  its  councils.  Charles  Hamilton,  a  son,  now  sits 
at  one  of  the  feet  of  Frank  F.  Dresser.  Later  the 
Club  moved  to  its  present  site  and  changed  its 
temper  until  few,  if  any  of  its  members,  could  be  in- 
duced off  the  banks  of  the  lake  onto  the  water.  They 
were  content  simply  to  look  at  it.  The  Club  was 
sought  simply  for  convivial  intercourse.  It  never 
had  a  more  constant  member  than  George  Stearns, 
now  moved  to  Waltham.  It  was  hard  to  approach 
the    premises    without    seeing    George    in    negligee 

86 


SMITH'S     BARN 

engaged  in  some  loyal  service  in  the  house  or  on  the 
grounds.  Dr.  Lemuel  Fox  Woodward  ran  him  a 
close  second.  At  one  time,  the  Club  was  largely  his 
own  country  seat,  which  the  Club  recognized  as 
reasonable  because  of  his  devotion  and  value  to  it. 
Some  of  its  members  were  not  particularly  nice  at  the 
table,  for  when  they  took  their  soup  they  relied  much 
on  the  power  of  suction,  suggesting  defective  plumb- 
ing. 

The  great  feature  of  the  Club  has  been  its  monthly 
meetings  and  of  these  the  reading  of  the  censor's 
reports.  In  these  reviews  of  the  periods  between  the 
meetings  scant  attention  was  paid  even  to  the  laws  of 
slander  and  libel.  These  reports  became  epics,  to 
hear  which  all  the  members  invariably  came  from 
afar,  some  hoping  to  be  recognized,  but  the  sensitive 
to  be  ignored.  Great  among  these  censors  have  been 
Thomas  Hovey  Gage,  William  Bacon  Scofield, 
Henry  Harmon  Chamberlin,  Charles  Martin  Thayer, 
Ernest  L.  Thayer,  and  Harry  W.  Doe.  Gage  once 
painted  a  raid  and  rape  by  the  Grafton  Country 
Club  of  certain  so-called  doubledeckers,  which  were 
invaluable  furniture  in  our  bed  rooms  and  the  title 
to  which  was  in  question,  in  an  epoch-marker: — 

'*  They  had  no  place  to  lay  their  heads y 
And  so  they  came  and  took  our  beds,'' 

This  touched  the  Grafton  Club  so  deeply  that  some 
of   its   members,   themselves   fluent   critics,   discon- 

87 


SMITH'S    BARN 

tinued  diplomatic  relations  with  Gage.  Strangely, 
those  who  initiate  acrimony  are  the  first  to  resent 
reciprocity.  Strangely  the  caustic  are  the  first  to  ask 
for  caution.  Scofield  was  Scofield,  Strong  praise. 
Enough.  Perhaps  the  peak  of  these  meetings  was 
turned  into  a  Commencement  day  and  an  honorary 
degree  was  conferred  by  the  censor  upon  Henry 
Alexander  Marsh,  F.  S.  H.,  Friend  of  Senator  Hoar. 
Chamberlin,  now  a  high  priest  of  bridge,  had  more 
literary  finish  than  any  of  the  censors.  He  could  not 
only  write  but  talk  the  English  language.  Beautiful 
are  his  legs  upon  the  sidewalk.  C.  M.  Thayer's 
shafts  were  excellent  but  he  was  somewhat  hobbled 
by  a  growing  law  practice.  Characteristically,  he 
hesitated  to  spear  the  great.  Ernest  L.  Thayer,  the 
immortal  author  of 

''Casey  at  the  bat,'' 
was  a  genius  who  excelled  both  in  substance  and 
form.  Harry  W.  Doe  was  the  most  versatile  of  all  of 
them.  He  was  strong  both  in  prose  and  in  verse  and 
was  an  amateur  actor  of  considerable  accomplish- 
ment. Everybody  liked  him.  Everybody  remem- 
bers him.  There  have  been  few  such.  The  Quinsiga- 
mond  Boat  Club  has  had  a  creditable  history,  made 
great  preeminently  by  its  censors. 

The  Grafton  Country  Club  was  incubated  under 
the  leadership  of  Harry  Worcester  Smith.  It  had 
a  motto: — 

"Each  to  his  pleasure^'' 

88 


SMITH'S    BARN 

It  recognized  a  desire  to  bring  within  the  reach  of 
the  West  Side,  wholesome  Enghsh  out-door  hfe, 
riding,  shooting  and  hunting,  and  it  set  out  to  gratify 
this  wish  with  no  small  success.  Here  could  be  found 
Chester  Whitin  Lasell,  who  headed  an  inspiring 
delegation  from  the  Blackstone  Valley,  also  Frank 
Luther  Hale,  Randolph  Crompton,  Samuel  H. 
Colton  and  Joseph  L.  Keith.  Its  small  but  attractive 
club  house  in  North  Grafton  near  the  Millbury 
line  had  all  the  seclusive  quiet  charm  of  a  private 
residence  and  the  country  about  it  was  fortunately 
quite  depopulated.  The  site  was  well  chosen.  With- 
out the  resources  of  H.  W.  Smith,  person  and  stables, 
the  Club,  however,  would  have  been  a  somewhat  one- 
legged  affair.  He  always  stood  ready  to  mount 
anyone  from  the  paddocks  at  Lord  vale  nearby,  some 
of  them  most  inappropriately,  and  it  was  no  unusual 
sight  to  see  a  novitiate,  wretched  but  simulating 
contentment,  thrown  from  the  back  of  a  bucker  into 
the  arms  of  an  hospitable  snow  drift. 

Four  leading  and  great  members  of  The  Grafton 
Country  Club  deserve  particular  treatment.  No 
men  and  few  women  are  more  modest  than  Chester 
Whitin  Lasell,  unreasonably  so  because  of  his 
triumphs  on  the  track.  Incidentally,  here,  it  is  an 
interesting  philosophical  question  for  debate: — 
Whether  there  is  more  happiness  in  being  a  small 
man  with  a  large  ego  or  a  large  man  with  a  small 
ego.^     The   mother  of  Chester  Whitin  Lasell  was  a 

89 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Whitin,  with  the  Drapers  and  the  Wells  family,  the 
three  great  manufacturing  families  of  Worcester 
county.  For  The  American  Optical  Company,  the 
Wells  family  might  advantageously  adopt  as  its 
trade-mark  the  scriptural  words: — "Having  eyes, 
ye  see  not,"  for  which  suggestion  no  charge  is  made 
these  Croesi  of  the  South.  Miss  Whitin  went  as  a 
girl  to  Lasell  Seminary  at  Auburndale  for  a  degree 
and  came  back  with  a  husband,  who,  with  Edward 
Lasell,  was  its  founder.  The  father  of  Chester  Whit- 
in Lasell  sat  close  up  to  Virgil,  Ovid  and  Herodotus. 
The  son,  in  an  avocation  which  he  wisely  made  a 
part  of  his  business,  religiously  cut  the  leaves  of  his 
American  Horse  Register,  while  he  temporarily 
mislaid  his  paternal  inheritance,  his  classical 
library.  A  portrait  of  his  patron  saint,  Ed.  Geers, 
always  hangs  true  on  his  walls. 

Chester  Whitin  Lasell  became  one  of  the  pic- 
turesque figures  of  Worcester  county,  thereby 
qualifying  for  the  child's  history.  He  early  deter- 
mined to  raise  his  own  horses  and  drive  them  him- 
self on  the  track,  almost  the  only  so-called  gentle- 
man driver  in  that  field.  He  made  his  debut  with 
Terrill  S.,  2.083^,  who  was  found  by  Dr.  Kendrick 
and  Edward  Moulton,  who  also  found  Moccasin 
Boy,  later  owned  by  Charles  A.  Williams.  This 
horse  was  eminently  successful.  For  years  he  was 
known  as  the  New  England  Half-Mile  Track  Champ- 
ion Pacer.    When  that  horse  struck  his  stride,  the 

90 


SMITH'S    BARN 

mile  posts  suggested  a  cemetery.  Lasell  then  grad- 
uated from  the  half-mile  track  to  The  Grand  Circuit. 
Here  it  was  a  sight  to  stir,  to  see  him  come  into  the 
home  stretch  behind  the  chestnut  stallion,  Mac- 
Dougal,  skipping  a  bit  behind  in  his  zeal,  who  never 
faltered  fighting  for  the  colors  of  Oakhurst  Farm. 
His  two  greatest  home-brews  were  Henry  Todd, 
2113^,  who  holds  the  two  year  gelding  record;  and 
Nowaday  Girl,  who  took  the  two-year  record  over  a 
half-mile  track,  2.163^.  This  was  much  to  do  against 
such  professional  drivers  as  Lon  MacDonald  and 
Walter  Cox,  to  whom  are  turned  over  innumerable 
entries  bought  by  the  capital  of  the  country.  It  is  a 
great  handicap  where  even  a  great  farm  is  confined 
to  its  own  product.  In  the  winter  he  moved  a  string 
of  horses  to  Hildreth's  stable  on  Sever  street  in 
Worcester  and  appeared  on  the  Speedway.  Here 
Gene  D.  was  never  headed,  as  sound  and  fast  a  brush 
horse  as  he  ever  owned.  When  the  America  won  the 
ocean  yacht  race,  some  one  cabled  to  England 
asking: — "Who  was  second,"  and  the  reply  came 
back : — 

"  There  was  no  second,'^ 

So  it  was  with  Gene  D.  when  Lasell  gave  her  her 
head.  There  was  no  second.  Lasell  drove  almost 
as  easily  as  a  young  woman  accepts  an  attractive 
offer  of  marriage.  He  speaks  of  "a  well  mannered 
filly."     When   one   carries    etiquette    into  the  stall 

91 


SMITH'S    BARN 

of  a  stable,  he  is  a  horseman  to  the  nth  degree. 
Easter,  a  handsome,  fast  black  mare  of  his,  was  also 
seen  on  the  Speedway  where  she  won  races  with  the 
ease  of  a  buggy  ride. 

It  is  popular  for  the  Spartanesque  and  those  who 
live  only  to  work  for  money  to  look  with  fine  con- 
tempt upon  the  sportsman  as  a  butterfly.  The 
great  lesson  of  the  life  of  Chester  Whitin  Lasell  is 
that  he  followed  an  avocation  with  all  the  skill  and 
perseverance  of  a  business  and  not  as  a  passing  fad. 
This  is  a  strong  test  of  character.  Gentle  Reader, 
have  you  the  spirit  to  rise  daily  at  Saugus,  through- 
out the  trotting  season,  year  in  and  year  out  at  five, 
and  work  out  a  prospect  'till  ten  on  the  track,  where 
there  is  small  stimulation  from  changing  panorama 
though  the  way  is  clear  if  not  straight.  This  Chester 
Whitin  Lasell  did.  Few  men  drove  more  miles  and 
saw  less  country.  He  shone  where  the  judge's  bell 
and  the  beat  of  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  upon  the  soft 
surface  of  the  back  stretch  are  music  to  the  ears  of 
the  sportsman.  At  the  same  time  he  did  not  forget 
the  manufacturing  company  of  which  he  is  the  head. 

In  the  early  Eighties,  a  Spaniard,  christened 
**  Manuel,"  a  horsebreaker,  rode  daily  a  chestnut 
horse  with  a  rope  in  his  mouth  up  Elm  street  to  his 
home  on  John  street.  This  sight  undoubtedly  was 
the  early  inspiration  of  Harry  Worcester  Smith, 
sometime  known  as  Bits  Smith,  alias  Biddy  Smith. 
In  his  turn,  on  a  horse  he  never  knew  fear.    With  his 

92 


SMITH'S    BARN 

greyhounds,  he  early  led  the  country.  He  went  into 
the  show-ring  with  high  school  actors,  like  "Sky- 
high,"  against  the  Vanderbilts.  With  limited  capi- 
tal, with  his  brains,  he  beat  them  with  their  money. 
He  bought  "The  Cad"  for  $150.  and  won  a  steeple- 
chase, a  sport  which  calls  for  skill  and  courage,  at 
Morris  Park  and  $10,000.  against  a  field  of  pro- 
fessional jockies,  white  and  black.  He  rode  at  the 
old  indoor  shows  in  the  Mechanics  Building  at 
Boston,  "Sure-Pop,"  a  brown  mare,  who  cleared 
the  fence  at  the  record.  That  mare  would  have  made 
a  splendid  trademark  for  the  Morgan  company,  for 
which  suggestion,  also,  no  charge  is  made.  She  was 
all  springs  but  head-strong.  When  Smith,  bare- 
headed, with  hair  curling  after  the  aristocratic 
manner  of  such  locks  as  remain  of  Henry  Cabot 
Lodge,  headed  that  mare  for  those  bars,  the  whole 
gallery  stood.  He  rode  at  The  Country  Club  at 
Brookline.  He  was  the  central  figure  there  for  years, 
when  even  the  Bostonese  thrilled  and  thawed  at  his 
exploits,  and  the  Cabots  and  the  Lowells  saw  that 
some  good  could  come  out  of  Nazareth  and  in  a 
Smith.  Once,  thrown  at  an  obstacle  and  dazed,  one 
of  his  adherents  and  admirers  hurried  up  with  words 
of  encouragement,  "Harry,  you  will  ride  again." 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith,  who  stood  nearby  and  who 
for  years  had  anxiously  wondered  daily  whether  her 
son  was  on  the  turf  or  under  it,  looked  upon  this 
friend  and  said: — 

93 


SMITH'S    BARN 

"  *,  if  you  are  the  sportsman  you  say  you 

are,  mount  the  horse,  who  stands  there  eating 

grass  and  finish  the  race.     You  have  no 

wife  or  children.'^ 

Harry  Worcester  Smith  was  as  successful  in  his 
way  as  any  one  who  has  ever  hved  in  Worcester 
county.  But  these  accompHshments  were  not  his 
high  tide.  Threatened  with  physical  disability  and 
meeting  Waldo  Sessions,  Senior,  one  day,  and  each 
understood  the  other  and  they  were  good  friends, 
Smith  said  to  him: — 

"  Don't  fix  your  measuring  eye  on  me,'' 

and  then  rebuilt  himself.  Further,  then  strapped 
financially,  he  made  and  deposited  in  the  bank  one 
half  million  dollars.  This  is  much  money,  that  is  in 
a  country  town.  He  thus  showed  the  determination 
which  had  made  him  what  he  was.  Gentle  Reader 
and  Spartan,  have  you  taken  hurdles  like  these  or 
any  one  of  them.^^  They  are  the  lessons  of  his  life. 
How  art  the  mighty  fallen,  with  all  the  spur  of 
these  traditions.  Today,  the  only  inhabitant  of  the 
West  Side  known  beyond  Boston  is  Homer  Gage, 
Junior,  for  what  he  is  now  doing  with  such  wire- 
haired  fox  terriers  as  Miss  Springtime  and  Wellwire 
Welsh  Scout,  international  champions.  Here  is 
the  fleur-de-lis  far  flung.  This  proposition  excepts 
only  those  who  chase  the  golf  ball,  which  most  men 

•Author  will  identify  in  confidence. 

94 


SMITH'S    BARN 

pursue  when  they  have  approached  so  close  to  the 
grave  as  to  be  unable  to  pursue  anything  else. 
They  can  not  be  inventoried  in  such  fast  company  as 
the  heroes  of  these  pages. 

The  third  sportsman  of  The  Grafton  Country  Club 
to  be  honored  with  recognition  in  this  child's  history 
is  Samuel  Ellsworth  Winslow,  who  has  shown  that  a 
man  may  be  a  graduate  of  Harvard  and  still  eligible 
for  public  office.  He  was  the  greatest  ball  player  who 
ever  came  out  of  the  West  Side.  He  played  not  only 
with  his  hands  and  feet  but  with  his  head.  Versatile, 
he  was  a  pitcher  and  an  out-fielder.  He  was  a  hard- 
hitter.  He  led  a  nine  at  Harvard  through  an  entire 
season  without  a  defeat.  In  those  days,  Yale  won 
over  Harvard,  often  at  baseball  and  generally  at 
football,  when  the  Harvard  band  played : — 

''Ifs  a  way  we  have  at  old  Harvard.'' 

Winslow  was  first  a  disciplinarian.  He  had  the 
nine  McGrawed.  He  was  the  nine.  His  wisest  act 
as  captain  was  when  he  fired  an  outfielder  on  the 
eve  of  a  Yale  game  looked  upon  as  vital  to 
victory,  for  insubordination.  This  player  suffered 
from  a  delusion  and  banked  upon  it,  that  he  was 
greater  than  Winslow.  He  thought  he  could  safely 
indulge  in  a  skate  other  than  the  Winslow.  And 
Harvard  won  the  game. 

William  Lord  Smith,  another  member  of  the  Club, 
made  himself  known  throughout  the  country  as  a 

95 


SMITH'S    BARN 

hunter  of  big  game  in  Africa.  He  faced  an  oncoming 
lion  in  that  jungle  as  calmly  as  he  poured  maple- 
syrup  on  a  buckwheat  cake  on  Elm  street.  Enough 
to  say  of  him  that  he  has  but  one  quality  more 
marked  than  his  courage,  which  is  his  modesty  of 
bearing. 

An  innocent,  intimate  legend  of  the  Club  may  not 
here  be  out  of  place.  At  one  time,  Matthew  Percival 
Whittall  was  elected  to  membership.  For  four 
weeks  the  Club  was  without  an  acknowledgment  of 
his  attitude.  It  then  invaded  South  Worcester 
curious  to  determine  the  situation.  The  delegation 
was  met  by  his  father,  Matthew  J.  Whittall.  "Gen- 
tlemen," he  said,  "Percy  is  very  busy,  so  that, 
perhaps,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what 
you  want."  "No,"  he  added,  "Percy  has  never 
seen  your  letter.  It  is  in  my  pocket  where  it  has 
always  been  since  I  first  saw  it.  I  recognized  your 
motto: — 'Each  to  his  pleasure.'  You  are  all  very 
nice  gentlemen  but  Percy  will  not  join  your  club 
jar  we  are  all  just  as  fast  as  we  need  to  be."  By 
which  he  meant,  simply,  that  he  wanted  Percy  at 
home,  to  continue  to  read  aloud: — "Swiss  Family 
Robinson."  Anyone  who  remembers  the  clean 
sportsmanship  of  the  Club  and  the  sweet  nature  of 
M.  J.  Whittall  will  recognize  the  legitimacy  of  this 
anecdote  as  a  harmless  pleasantry  of  high  order. 
The  Grafton  Country  Club  has  now  for  some  years 
belonged  to  the  ages,  but  it  filled  well  a  vital  nitch, 

96 


SMITH'S    BARN 

and  did  much  to  add  to  the  health  and  happiness  of 
its  members  and  their  friends. 

The  Worcester  Club  began  its  existence  as  a  social 
fortress.  George  Frisbie  Hoar  was  its  first  president. 
To  be  admitted  in  those  days  was  a  high  social  honor 
and  a  successful  response  to  every  exhaustive  test, 
intellectual,  and  particularly  financial.  It  soon 
learned,  however,  that  there  was  not  money  enough 
among  the  old  Indian  families  of  Worcester  to  main- 
tain the  Club  on  the  plane  where  it  belonged.  It 
looked  longingly  on  the  boys  of  The  Winter  Club. 
The  strict  guard  on  the  premises  was  then  relaxed 
and  it  became,  from  a  gathering  of  one  element,  a 
peaceful  and  successful  juxtaposition  of  factions. 
It  widened  its  scope  so  that  its  personnel  appealed 
to  all  tastes  whether  intellectual,  artistic,  food  or 
game  loving,  or  merely  human  beings.  Here  it  was  a 
new  ordeal  to  the  West  Side,  which  had  known  only 
the  faithful  hand  of  some  Irish  maid  as  she  placed 
oatmeal  and  milk  upon  the  breakfast  table,  to  be 
called  upon  to  face  composedly  one  Biggs,  an  English- 
man and  steward,  ever  ready  with  obeisance  and: — 
"Quite  right.  Sir;"  or  "Very  good  indeed.  Sir."  Still 
comparatively  young,  the  Club  is  rich  in  memories  to 
the  old  inhabitants.  It  was  a  brave  or  handsome 
young  woman,  or  both,  who  strolled  unnecessarily  on 
Sunday  noon  by  its  windows,  where  were  concealed 
behind  protecting  screens  a  battery  of  optics  and 
cheerful  critics,   and  some  old  fashioned  people  on 

97 


SMITH'S    BARN 

their  way  home  from  church  in  the  early  days 
looked  at  the  Club  as  at  a  place  to  be  shunned. 
When  the  arid  wave  first  struck  the  Club  and  the 
members  turned  to  private  fountains,  it  became  the 
private  residence  of  Charles  Francis  Aldrich,  who 
was  living  there,  to  maintain  which  the  members  glad- 
ly paid  dues.  There  in  the  old  days  on  many  an 
evening,  Henry  Bacon,  George  Spring  Taft,  Horace 
Verry  and  Col.  Hopkins  hung  over  a  game  of  bil- 
liards. In  the  reception  room,  William  Ellis  Rice 
and  Josiah  H.  Clarke  discussed  the  troubles  of  the 
New  Haven  railroad.  At  a  table  in  the  restaurant, 
Charles  A.  Chase,  Joseph  Russell  Marble,  William 
Hamilton  Coe  and  Edward  Brodie  Glasgow  often 
sat  at  late  supper  in  quiet  cheer.  And  there  were 
young  red-blooded  members  who  are  neither  for- 
gotten nor  named  for  they  can  make  themselves 
heard.  In  later  days  the  Club  house  was  materially 
enlarged  so  that  it  has  become  a  great,  successful 
city  club.  It  had  however  in  those  early  days  a 
charm  which  it  has  never  passed. 

La  Societe  de  I'Hiver,  or  for  our  little  readers,  The 
Winter  Club,  had  rooms  on  Pleasant  street  at  the 
corner  of  what  was  known  as  Post  Office  alley.  It 
was  a  Wayfarer's  Lodge  for  men  in  the  twenties,  who, 
after  a  summer  at  The  Quinsigamond  Boat  Club, 
found  themselves  obliged  in  the  winter  to  spend  their 
evenings  with  their  families  because  of  the  high 
dues  at  The  Worcester  Club.     Its  most  picturesue 

98 


SMITH'S    BARN 

figure  was  its  steward,  an  Ethiopian,  Harry  W.  Tol- 
son.  He  deserves  a  place  among  the  picturesque. 
Tliere  was  nothing  seclusive  about  Tolson  and  he 
mingled  freely  with  the  members.  He  could  make 
a  rare-bit  or  fill  up  a  card  table.  He  had  come  into 
this  easy  communion  with  the  best  through  a  series 
of  social  summers  at  Princeton.  There  he  was  a 
wakeful  agent  for  his  mother  who  presided  over  a 
laundr}^  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  touch  upon  the 
shoulder  even  a  Bullock  at  a  dance  with  some  un- 
friendly and  suggestive  comment  on  the  quality  of 
his  linen.  Each  Monday  evening  he  was  seen 
dragging  into  the  outskirts  a  small  wagon  with  its 
whited  cargo,  the  fruit  of  his  week's  diplomacy. 
Two  more  men  of  this  race,  colored  leaders,  William 
Storms  and  Joseph  Small,  have  been  good  souls  about 
the  gardens  and  lawns  of  the  West  Side,  where  they 
have  fearlessly  sought  to  ensnare  lions  of  the  dandy 
type  and  where  they  have  been  spoken  of  by  master 
matrons  as,  "Very  nice  men."  James  Storms,  a 
son,  is  in  business  in  Boston  where  he  has  seen  many 
great  ups  and  downs  as  an  elevator  operator  in  the 
Custom  House  Tower.  Strange,  how  many  of  the 
colored  turn  to  laundering  and  kalsomining  and  are 
seldom  seen  on  the  perches  of  coal- wagons. 

When  The  Worcester  Club  called  for  new  blood  and 
a  bank  balance,  it  absorbed  The  Winter  Club  on 
terms  satisfactory  to  each  of  the  parties,  some  of  the 
older  members  of  the  former,  however,  stipulating 

99 


SMITH'S    BARN 

that  the  boys  should  not  bring  with  them  all  of  their 
toys.  The  plan  has  worked  out  well.  Nevertheless, 
the  club  question  will  not  be  ultimately  solved 
until  we  have  a  large,  bi-sex  club  with  a  wing  for  the 
men,  and  a  wing  for  the  women  if  they  can  be  gal- 
lantly spoken  of  as  needing  wings,  and  a  centre  house 
where  all  sexes  can  mingle  at  fancy  and  at  will.  Then 
will  our  homes  belong  exclusively  to  the  children,  with 
no  lights  in  the  evening  below  the  second  floor,  and 
we  shall  have  attained  the  social  and  domestic  ideal. 
The  Bohemian  Club  was  unique  above  all  others 
in  that  all  the  members  were  conversant  with  books 
other  than  mileage  books,  telephone  directories  and 
social  registers.  There  met  artists  like  Joseph  Green- 
wood; surgeons  like  Homer  Gage;  gentlemen  like 
Charles  Seabury  Hale;  clergymen  like  the  brilliant 
Langdon  Stewardson;  scientists  like  Arthur  Gordon 
Webster;  musicians  like  Arthur  Joseph  Bassett;  and 
scholars  like  Edmund  Sanford.  Their  pleasures  were 
Bohemian  and  simple.  Beverages  like  beer  from  the 
bung  but  oftener  cold  blast  ginger-ale  at  five  cents 
a  mug,  and  cigars  of  such  a  popular  brand  as  the 
"Blackstone"  were  enough  to  stimulate  and  content 
them  in  their  Thursday  evening  conferences.  A 
citizen  of  the  town  might  invent  a  rat-trap  or  make 
a  million  in  pop-corn  and  fail  to  stir  them  and  be  as 
far  from  qualifying  for  membership  as  when  he 
began  his  business  career,  penniless.  The^^  nested 
in    an  attic  suite,  opposite  the  foot  of  Elm  street. 

100 


SMITH'S    BARN 

The  walls  were  not  frescoed  but  hung  with  fish-nets, 
suggesting  the  retreat  of  a  great  painter,  a  Greenwood 
or  a  Hale.  Give  a  great  aesthetic  a  fish-net  and  a 
glass  of  cold  blast  and  he  is  content.  The  hearts 
of  its  members  were  not  set  on  deer  parks,  kennels 
and  racing  stables.  They  worshipped  only  the 
triumphs  of  the  mind. 

The  Bohemian  Club  had  its  Christmas  Revels. 
At  one  of  these,  verses  were  read  on  Leonard  Kinni- 
cutt  and  his  dog  ** Kelpie."  Dr.  Kinnicutt  was  a 
Professor  at  The  Worcester  Polytechnic  Institute 
where  Dr.  Edmund  A.  Engler  was  president,  and  the 
chorus  began: — 

"Vll  tell  Dr,  Engler r 

The  man  who  wrote  that  verse  ought  to  go  into 
history  with  the  discoverer  of  the  wireless.  Car- 
toons of  each  member  by  the  exquisite  hand  of 
Charles  Seabury  Hale  were  published  in  a  book,  that 
of  Colonel  Edward  Brodie  Glasgow,  whose  ankles 
were  always  protected  by  carpet,  being  entitled: — 

"  Can  the  leopard  change  his  spats?' \ 

When  William  T.  Brown,  a  literateur,  read  a 
paper  at  one  of  its  formal  functions  and  a  pin  drop- 
ped, men  jumped  as  when  a  bomb  explodes.  He  had 
a  gentle,  delicious,  efficient  humor  which  made  even 
Scofield  covetous.  During  the  working  hours  of  the 
day  William  Brown  made  clothes.    W^e  boys  looked 

101 


SMITH'S    BARN 

upon  his  handiwork  as  the  jeunesse  dor^e  of  Boston 
look  upon  John  Mitchell.  In  those  days  thirty 
dollars  commanded  his  talents.  Those  were  halcyon 
days.  Glasgow  was  invariably  to  be  found  at  The 
Bohemian  Club.  He  was  a  well  read  man  of 
refinement  and  a  good  deal  of  a  philosopher.  He 
had  a  type  of  charming  pessimism  which  made, 
rather  than  jeopardized  friendships  and  which  was 
restful  and  soothing  as  against  the  boisterous  and 
trying  cheer  in  which  club  houses  abound.  Once, 
when  told  of  the  happiness  of  a  mother  with  twins, 
he  said: — 

''  Some  folks  are  very  easily  "pleased, ^^ 

The  Bohemian  Club  never  rivalled  its  social  brethren 
because  it  had  a  menu  of  its  own.  It  was  content 
with  its  own  place  which  was  a  high  one. 

The  first  president  of  The  Harvard  Club  of  Wor- 
cester was  Stephen  Salisbury  and  the  vice-president, 
George  F.  Hoar.  One  of  the  little  Washburns  once 
ventured  up  to  the  ancestral  estate  of  George  Frisbie 
Hoar  to  ask  him  to  preside  at  a  Republican  rally. 
The  maid  cautiously  asked  him  to  remain  outside, 
which  did  not  dispel  his  native  diffidence,  while  she 
carried  his  card  into  an  inner  chamber  and  the 
august  presence.  When  this  little  Washburn  had 
finally  secured  an  audience  and  sought  to  identify 
himself  with  name  and  ancestry,  with  perhaps 
pardonable  childish  pride,  the  senator,  who  seemed 

102 


SMITH'S     BARN 

somewhat  in  mental  conflict,  observed: — "Ah,  Ro- 
bert Washburn,  Washburn,  I  think  I  place  the  fami- 
ly, quite  respectable  people."  Taking  the  chair  at 
one  of  the  meetings  of  The  Harvard  Club,  Mr.  Hoar 
once  said,  that  it  was  an  unhappy  instance  where: — 

"  Vice  takes  precedence  over  virtue.'* 

The  strength  of  this  Club  has  been  materially  in  men 
who  have  never  taken  their  degrees.  Strangely, 
college  reunions  are  always  under  a  deep  obligation 
to  those  who  have  been  repudiated  by  their  Alma 
Maters  but  who  always  appear  at  such  times  with 
virile  loyalty,  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  Ca- 
bridge  "mucker"  is  a  mighty  ally  at  a  foot-ball 
bon  fire.  The  Club  had  relaxed  in  its  qualifications 
for  membership  until  any  one  who  had  blown  up  a 
motor  tire  while  passing  through  Cambridge  might 
present  his  name  with  hope  of  success. 

This  review  now  drives  on  into  the  exigencies  and 
delicacies  of  the  impending  chapter  with  a  courage 
almost  heedless,  spurred  by  those  great  lines  of 
Longfellow : — 

'' A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner,  with  the  strange  device, 
'Excelsior'  " 

A  young  woman,  asked  why  she  had  been  demoted 
from  a  Pierce  car  to  a  Ford,  replied: — "Father  has 
written  a  book."    In  literature  as  in  aeronautics  it  is 

103 


SMITH'S    BARN 

harder  to  stop  and  to  land  than  to  start,  and  did 
discretion  dictate  the  scope  of  these  memories,  with 
some  reason,  there  might  be  imprinted  here  upon  this 
page  at  this  point  a  cut  of  a  cub  bear,  sitting  upon  a 
cake  of  ice,  to  carry  the  thought:— 
My  tale  is  told. 


104 


CHAPTER  10 

Two  Schools,  Merriman  and  Cristy 

These  two  schools,  Daniel  Merriman  the  leader  of 
one  and  Austin  Cristy  of  the  other,  with  the  founding 
of  Clark  University  began  to  stand  out  in  sharp 
contrast.  That  was  the  struggle  of  the  Eighties. 
Austin  Cristy  had  but  one  thought  and  one  ambition, 
to  put  a  daily  newspaper  on  its  feet  and  thereby  to 
establish  himself  in  a  suburban  villa.  This  he  did. 
With  him,  it  was  The  Paper,  first;  and  all  else,  last, 
if  at  all.  Daniel  Merriman  sought  to  emphasize 
religion,  education,  music  and  art  in  a  plain,  practi- 
cal manufacturing  city.  These  two,  diverse  ambi- 
tions may  not  be  sympathetic.  They  are  not  dis- 
creditable. Nevertheless,  The  Paper,  The  Festival, 
Clark  and  The  Museum  were  not  kinsmen  in  the  old 
days.  Daniel  Merriman  and  Austin  Cristy  were 
not  disciples  of  the  same  school.  This  is  a  temperate 
and  perhaps  sound  statement,  non-actionable.  When 
Daniel  Merriman  cried;  Forward,  then  it  was  not 
Onward,  Cristian  Soldiers  under  Austin  Pulitzer, 
Field  Mar^chal  Cristy.  He  wavered.  Like  Achilles 
of  old,  at  times  he  even  sulked  in  his  tent. 

Daniel  Merriman  came  to  Worcester  into  the 
pulpit  of  the  Central  Church,  where  Charles  Baker, 
in  his  turn,  collected  tithes.     He  was  a  graduate  of 

105 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Williams  College.  In  those  days  a  college  degree 
was  a  unique  distinction,  and  those  who  went  to 
Europe,  on  their  return  were  surrounded  upon  the 
street  corners  as  though  from  the  top  of  Mount 
Everest.  Daniel  Merriman  was  one  of  the  first 
citizens  of  Worcester  to  actually  own  his  own  evening 
clothes.  When  he  retired,  for  only  the  vulgar  go  to 
bed,  he  divorced  himself  from  his  shirt,  collar  and 
cuffs  in  one  operation,  and  they  could  not,  as  with 
us  fellers,  rest  on  three  separate  chairs.  He  never 
allowed  a  plural  subject  to  become  unduly  intimate 
with  a  singular  verb.  His  library  was  adorned  with 
a  bronze  head  of  Caesar  Augustus  and  not  a  Rogers 
Group.  On  his  walls  hung  Corots  and  not  a  large 
colored  photograph  of  Grace  Darling.  Naturally 
the  old  settlers  were  under  high  pressure  in  his 
presence,  for  he  was  of  a  race  of  his  own.  Logically, 
he  later  became  president  of  The  Art  Museum. 
This  was  not  only  proper  but  unavoidable.  He  was 
one  of  the  scholarly  preachers  of  the  city.  His  wife 
was  a  woman  of  property  and,  unlike  many  of  the 
clergy,  to  him  a  growing  grocer's  account  had  small 
terror.  He  was  a  man  of  learning,  refinement  and 
aesthetic  tastes.  He  had  control  of  his  time  and  he 
was  determined  to  use  it  for  a  better  Worcester. 
He  became  a  right  arm  of  Stephen  Salisbury  at  The 
Worcester  Polytechnic  Institute  and  at  The  Art 
Museum.  Stephen  Salisbury  was  rich  and  generous. 
He  was  a  very  modest,  unassuming  man.     He  was 

106 


SMITH'S     J5  A  R  N 

forced  to  confine  his  intimacies  to  those  who  he  knew 
would  ask  him  for  nothing.  Most  men  asked  him  for 
everything.  He  did  not  dare  to  answer  his  own 
door  bell.  A  missionary  was  the  only  man  who  in 
his  zeal  ever  ventured  to  slap  him  on  the  back. 
This  was  almost  sacrilegious.  He  got  no  money.  Most 
men  handled  him  as  tenderly  as  a  bit  of  bric-a-brac, 
particularly  when  their  interest  in  him  was  sordid. 

Daniel  Merriman  came  into  Worcester  strong  in 
his  way  and  complemented  the  town  where  it  was 
weak  in  its  way.  It  was  a  happy  day  for  Worcester 
when  he  came  in,  and  a  sad  day  for  it  when  he  went 
out.  Its  people  are  under  a  strong  obligation  to  the 
Merrimans.  They  were  respected  as  a  force  in  the 
community  for  the  best.  They  were  alone  of  their 
kind.  There  were  too  few  such.  In  some  non-es- 
sentials, however,  they  were  of  some  innocent 
amusement  to  the  townspeople. 

Three  anecdotes  of  the  Merrimans.  One  evening, 
Dr.  Merriman  was  emphasizing  to  a  friend  his  hopes 
for  his  son,  now  Dr.  Roger  B.  Merriman,  then  at 
Cambridge.  "Roger,"  said  he,  "I  hope  will  live  life 
to  the  full,  in  its  best,  broadest  and  highest  sense, 
with  a  fine  regard  and  respect  for  its  traditions." 
The  bell  then  rang  and  the  following  wire  was  read 
by  Dr.  Merriman,  who  in  his  emotion  had  quite 
forgotten  himself: — "Have  swallowed  a  billiard  ball 
on  a  wager  at  Leavitt  and  Pierce's.  Can  not  extri- 
cate it.    Come  at  once.    Roger."    This  was  a  strong 

107 


SMITHES    BARN 

contrast  between  idealism  and  realism,  hopes  and 
facts. 

Again,  Stephen  Salisbury  had  given  $200,000  to 
the  Polytechnic  Institute  in  a  letter  to  Daniel  Mer- 
riman,  secretary,  which  seemed  like  almost  a  daily 
habit  of  Mr.  Salisbury.  A  reporter  of  The  Gazette, 
seeking  "a  scoop,"  went  to  Mechanics'  Hall  where 
"The  Tech."  was  holding  its  graduating  exercises  in 
a  crowded  hall.  Writing  on  a  piece  of  paper  that 
he  would  like  a  copy  of  Mr.  Salisbury's  note,  he 
succeeded  in  handing  this  on  a  cane  up  to  Colonel 
Elijah  Brigham  Stoddard,  who  sat  on  the  platform 
close  to  Daniel  Merriman.  In  those  days  no  one 
was  recognized  with  academic  distinction  in  Wor- 
cester except  at  the  hands  of  Colonel  Stoddard,  who 
was  chairman  of  the  State  Board  of  Education. 
He  was  a  native  of  Mendon  and  a  graduate  of  its 
High  School.  When  Daniel  Merriman  read  this 
paper,  he  was  overcome  with  mirth.  It  had  no 
other  effect  upon  him.  When  a  curious  reporter 
reached  Dr.  Merriman,  after  the  exercises  and  after 
The  Gazette  had  gone  to  press,  and  the  news  belonged 
to  The  Paper,  Dr.  Merriman  addressed  him  thus: — 
"Young  man,  your  request  was  not  only  amusing  but 
absolutely  unintelligible  to  me.  Mr.  Salisbury  has 
written  no  note.  A  note  can  be  but  one  of  three 
things,"  counting  them  on  his  fingers,  "either  an 
interchange  between  two  great  powers;  a  sordid 
evidence  of  indebtedness;  or  a  communication  be- 

108 


SMITHS    BARN 

tween  •two  little  ones  at  school,  in  the  nature  of  a 
love  missive.  Mr.  Salisbury's  communication  re- 
sponds to  none  of  these  tests.  He  wrote  a  letter  and 
nothing  else.  My  dear  young  man,  when  you  want 
anything  of  me,  do  talk  the  English  language,  if  you 
can." 

Not  disheartened,  a  reporter  never  can  be,  on 
another  day,  he  asked  Helen  Bigelow  Merriman, 
wife  of  Daniel  Merriman,  for  a  paper  she  had  written 
on  art,  who  replied,  "Young  man,  I  can  not  have 
my  paper  edited  by  you,  or  marked  by  your  blue 
pencil,  or  cut  by  your  vulgar  shears.  I  have  thrown 
my  whole  being  into  that  paper.  Do  you  know  for 
what  you  have  asked  .^^  You  have  asked  for  my 
child."  Led  to  look  upon  the  paper  from  this  angle, 
the  reporter  did  not  push  his  claim  further. 

Daniel  Merriman  was  a  strong  friend  of  The  Music 
Festival,  Clark  University  and  The  Art  Museum. 
He  was  not  a  regular  contributor  to  The  Paper.  The 
Music  Festival  has  been  established  and  maintained 
largely  by  our  own  townspeople,  much  to  its  honor. 
It  has  become  an  institution.  A  people  which  had 
hitherto  unrestrainedly  found  delight  in  such  vulgar 
productions  as:  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  began 
loyally  to  similate  pleasure,  with  some  effort  and 
success,  at  a  seventy -two  page  fugue  in  B  minor  by 
Bach.  A  tune  had  been  cut  out  of  their  diet  except, 
strangely  and  inconsistently,  in  encores,  when  they 
gave  way  to  common  joy  without  restraint.    How- 

109 


SMITH'S    BARN 

ever  miserable  at  heart,  they  were  bound  to  Hve  on  a 
high  plane  and  the  sale  of  hurdy-gurdys  fell  off, 
although  some  of  the  colored  population  continued 
to  play  a  cornet  on  the  side  streets  in  August  on  a 
Sunday  afternoon.  However,  the  inhabitants  did  not 
rebel,  for  they  had  learned  to  choose  between  crudity 
and  happiness  on  the  one  hand,  and  trial  and  pro- 
gress on  the  other.  They  recognized  with  no  small 
pride  that  Worcester  had  become  a  shrine  at  which 
pilgrims  from  all  over  the  country  came  to  worship 
and  they  were  happy.  Of  such  is  The  Music  Festival. 
Then  for  their  further  development  came  Clark 
University  and  College.  Then  the  Cristians  sneezed, 
openly  and  vigorously.  Yet  there  they  went,  under 
some  pressure  it  is  true.  They  had  carefully  folded 
their  copies  of  The  Paper,  which  yet  peaked  out  of 
their  pockets  at  Commencement  exercises.  There, 
when  even  the  June  bugs  were  giddy  with  the  heat, 
they  saw  conferred  upon  some  savant  an  honorary 
degree  in  a  classical  tongue  when  some  obscure 
citizen  nodded  his  approval  largely  because  he 
sought  to  control  his  knowledge  of  profane  language 
because  of  his  ignorance  of  any  other.  It  is  said  that 
a  clergyman  was  once  called  to  a  pulpit  because  he 
was  wise  enough  to  preach  on  the  invert  opaqueness 
of  Providence,  and  the  pew-holders  assumed  that  he 
was  a  wise  man  because  they  were  not  wise  enough 
to  know  otherwise.  The  Cristians  read  in  The 
Paper  of  the  approach  of  Docents  and  they  gathered 

110 


SMITH'S    BARN 

about  the  old  Union  Depot  as  curious  and  expectant 
as  upon  a  circus,  wondering  whether  it  was  to  be  a 
mastodon  or  something  preserved  in  a  bottle.  They 
began  to  read  of  the  knee-jerk,  although  they  were 
more  vitally  interested  in  the  accurate  interpretation 
of  a  gas  meter.  They  recognized,  however,  that 
what  they  did  not  understand  yet  might  be  good. 
And  all  the  people  recognized  that  in  Jonas  Oilman 
Clark  the  city  had  found  a  great  benefactor,  essen- 
tially because  he  had  brought  the  highest  education 
within  the  reach  of  the  boys  of  the  city  and  county. 
Of  such  was  Clark  University  and  College. 

Then  came  The  Art  Musem  through  the  wise 
generosity  of  Stephen  Salisbury,  in  its  turn  finding 
the  people  not  wholly  prepared.  It  took  courage  to 
plant  water  colors,  canvas  and  oils  in  a  field  where  the 
great  crop  had  been  overalls,  and  some  of  the  crass, 
note  the  word,  Oentle  Reader,  wondered  why 
Burkett's  Ball  Field  might  not  better  have  been 
endowed.  Such  concerns  fell  away  when  they  walked 
among  its  art  treasures  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  and 
into  fields  which  had  been  to  them  strange  lands. 
There  they  saw  a  painting,  curiously  labeled  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  museums,  "A  Young  Oirl," 
under  an  abnormal  fear,  perhaps,  that  it  might  other- 
wise be  construed  as  a  portrait  of  a  discharged 
steward  of  the  Worcester  Club,  which  might  have 
been  marked.  Serf  on  the  Rocks.  Here  Benjamin 
Heywood  Stone,  affectionately  known  as  "Bennie," 

111 


SMITH'S    BARN 

covers  the  whole  gamut  of  his  duties.  He  sits  in 
judgment  on  a  masterpiece,  files  a  cheery  letter  from 
Gentner,  or  diligently  and  delicately  aids  the  Venus 
de  Milo  in  her  toilet  for  a  Sunday  reception.  Muse- 
ums and  Ku-Klux  Klans  have  their  hanging  com- 
mittees, each  bringing  distress  in  almost  equal 
measure.  While  the  talented  artist  welcomed  the 
museum  as  a  stimulus  and  a  goal,  he  chafed  at  times 
when  the  work  of  his  genius  was  looked  upon  askance 
by  some  man  whose  success  in  business,  in  the 
manufacture  of  gum  or  some  other  commodity, 
exceeded  his  qualifications  as  a  connoisseur  of  art. 
This  philosophy  may  be  brutal  but  it  is  somewhat 
sound.  Again  the  people  saw  that  what  they  might 
not  understand  yet  might  be  good.  They  recog- 
nized in  Stephen  Salisbury  a  generous  and  wise 
donor,  for  he  had  given  Worcester  a  new  name 
throughout  the  country  where  she  had  been  known 
for  her  looms,  carpets  and  metal  products  only. 
Of  such  is  The  Art  Museum. 

It  is  an  easy  transition  from  Daniel  Merriman  to 
the  Church.  They  are  synonomous.  In  those  days 
there  was  a  delicious  hush,  Sunday  morning.  The 
world  seemed  to  slow  up.  There  was  peace.  It  was 
before  the  era  of  gasolene  and  then  men  on  Sunday, 
when  they  carried  tennis  racquets,  carried  them 
furtively  under  their  coats.  Then  boys  were  washed 
every  Saturday  night,  if  they  needed  it,  which  was 
looked  upon  as  an  evening  sacred  for  that  purpose. 

1112 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Now  people  bathe  unnecessarily  and  even  for  fun. 
On  the  following  Sabbath,  the  boys  were  unacclimat- 
ed  to  fresh  underwear,  which  came  once  a  week. 
Perhaps  this  gave  special  emphasis  to  the  day.  Then 
some  of  us  were  taken  to  Union  Church  which  then 
stood  on  Front  street  beyond  the  Providence  tracks, 
which  then  intersected  the  Common,  close  to  where 
then  stood  the  Crystal  Palace  and  where  Joseph 
Forest  Sherer  now  emulates  F.  W.  Wool  worth.  Then 
we  walked  past  the  old  City  Hall  and  looked  fearfully 
into  its  basement  windows  at  the  prisoners  who  were 
to  be  taken  before  Judge  Warren  Williams  to  be  tried 
on  the  following  day.  Here  our  nurses  had  told  us 
we  were  sure  to  land.  Hence,  we  were  interested,  as 
some  politicians  are  in  the  building  of  a  new  State 
Prison.  This  was  before  Mr.  Justice  George  Russell 
Stobbs  wore  the  ermine  on  Waldo  street,  where  what 
he  said  was  law,  that  is  after  he  said  it. 

The  minister  of  Union  Church  was  Ebenezer 
Cutler.  Strangely,  he  was  as  good  a  judge  of  a  horse 
as  there  was  in  Worcester.  This  is  a  scarce  virtue 
with  the  cloth.  The  Washburn  and  Moen  Manu- 
facturing Company  was  controlled  from  the  broad 
aisle  of  Union  Church.  Hence,  there  was  always  a 
plenty  of  candidates  to  teach  in  the  Sunday  school 
which  was  looked  upon  as  a  transition  to  a  job  on 
Grove  street.  Here  was  prominent  Philip  Louis 
Moen.  When  he  sang  the  hymns,  he  raised  and 
lowered  his  eye-brows  in  a  peculiar  way  of  his  own. 

113 


SMITH'S    BARN 

This  clinched  the  attention  of  us  boys  and  did  much 
to  carry  us  through  the  service.  When  the  text  was 
announced,  our  elders  crowded  into  the  ends  of  the 
pews  and  then  we  prostrated  ourselves  in  sleep  for 
fortification,  physically,  against  the  drains  of  the 
coming  week.  Deacon  George  Kendall  also  sat  on 
the  broad  aisle.  He  bought  those  big  iron  grays 
which  drew  the  wire  wagons  over  which  for  years 
teamster  Bigelow  presided.  He  was  a  land  mark. 
A  small  boy  there  then  never  outgrew  the  name  of 

"Ramie'' 

because  at  Sabbath  School  Concert  on  the  fourth 
Sunday  of  the  month,  when  Dr.  Cutler  said, 
"Here  come  our  little  lambs,"  Ramie  led  the  flock 
into  the  church.  Benjamin  D.  Allen,  a  spiritual 
aristocrat  and  a  fine  exponent  of  the  old  school,  sat 
at  the  organ.  He  gave  us  boj^s  music  lessons.  When 
asked  by  him  to  repeat  for  the  fourth  time,  we 
impatiently  said,  "Darn  it,"  he  calmly  suggested, 
"No  profane  language  here."  In  its  later  years, 
Arthur  Estabrook  was  a  devoted  deacon  of  the 
church.  He  was  much  troubled  when  a  stable  was 
built  on  the  adjoining  premises  until  reminded  of 
the  manger  birth. 

Those  were  the  days  when  Episcopacy  and  Ca- 
tholicism were  tender  plants  in  the  town  and  the 
field  was  preempted  with  virile  Congregational, 
Baptist  and  Methodist  shrubs.    There  were  revivals 

114 


SMITH'S    BARN 

at  Piedmont  and  Grace  churches  when  spiritual 
sharp-shooters  fastened  their  fire  on  the  fringes  of 
the  congregation,  and  concluded  that  because  the 
timid  young  drew  back  that  they  were  averse  to 
salvation.  There,  the  revivalist  would  ask  those 
who  wished  to  be  saved  to  stand,  and  by  a  continued 
process  of  elimination  by  like  questions  left  the 
modest  still  sitting,  as  having  a  distinct  and  deter- 
mined desire  for  hell. 

On  Sunday  mornings  during  divine  service,  dea- 
cons chatted  with  the  "pastor"  before  the  sermon, 
who  then  asked  the  sexton  to  drop  the  window  six 
inches  from  the  top.  When  some  long  absent  wor- 
shipper walked  to  his  pew  on  the  broad  aisle,  then 
the  minister  formally  bowed  to  him,  much  to  his 
discomfort,  and  called  for  the  hymn: — 

"  While  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn. 
The  vilest  sinner  may  return.''' 

Then  there  came  what  was  known  as  ''the  long 
prayer."  After  a  longer  sermon,  the  service  was 
closed  with  that  great  hymn,  "In  the  cross  of 
Christ  I  glory,"  the  minister  begging  the  congrega- 
tion not  to  flat  their  high  Cs,  which  hymn  the  young 
men  associated  with  feverishly  locating  their  hats 
and  seeking  to  reach  the  prettiest  of  the  girls  as  she 
walked  out.  Those  were  the  days  when  the  young 
were  put  into  uncomfortable  clothes,  given  Bibles 
with  gilt-edged  leaves  and  long  leather  flaps  of  the 

115 


SMITH'S    BARN 

old  school,  sent  to  church  three  times  and  taught  to 
sing  of,  and  to  yearn  for  heaven  as  a  place  "Where 
congregations  ne'er  break  up  and  Sabbaths  have  no 
end."  Those  were  the  days  of  the  Wednesday 
evening  prayer  meetings  when  the  local  representa- 
tive of  an  over  busy  Lord,  who  had  taken  Worcester 
off  his  hands,  advised  him  in  detail  of  its  seven  day 
happenings,  business  and  social,  not  forgetting  even 
a  small  boy  who  had  jammed  his  finger  in  a  preserve 
closet  door.  Then,  when  the  proceedings  dragged, 
the  minister  would  seek  to  encourage  some  hesitating 
lamb,  sheep  or  perhaps  goat  "to  lead  us  in  prayer" 
with  an  identification  which  grew  in  particularity, 
such  as,  "Our  handsome  brother  in  the  rear  seat, 
with  a  red  beard,"  while  the  girls  tittered. 

These  considerations  naturally  introduce  Langdon 
Stewardson  who  once  audaciously  said  in  All  Saints' 
pulpit : — 

"  The  Episcopal  church  is  so  decent  it  has  no  life. 
The  Methodists  so  lively  they  have  no  decency'' 

a  sharp,  concise  epigram  which  ruffled  both  Metho- 
dists, and  loyal  Episcopalians  and  their  husbands. 
He  was  the  greatest  preacher  in  Worcester  of  his  day. 
His  sermons  were  rich  in  substance  and  in  their 
ironical  finish.  Into  these  he  threw  not  only  his 
whole  head  but  also  his  whole  body.  Then  he  took 
a  bath,  like  a  race  horse  from  the  track.  He  drew 
to  his  church  even  men.     He  read  a  paper  before  a 

116 


SMITH'S    BARN 

clerical  club  on  "Tolerance,"  which  split  it  in  two. 
He  was  a  magnet  of  a  high  power.  He  drew  John 
Bowler  to  church,  once,  a  money -getter  and  a 
virile,  well  read  man,  who  said  that  when  he  had  made 
a  fortune  he  was  going  home  to  England  to  live, 
where  a  man  might  be  a  brewer  and  yet  be  looked 
upon  as  a  gentleman.  Pending  which,  strangely, 
the  genteel  continue  to  absorb  malted  drinks  and  at 
the  same  time,  strangely,  frown  upon  those  who 
fabricate  them. 

And  now  a  word  on  the  leader  of  the  Cristian 
school.  Austin  P.  Cristy  is  a  son  of  Dartmouth.  He 
is  of  the  class  of  '73.  The  P  stands  for  Phelps.  Two 
distinct  contributions  to  history.  He  has  walked 
up  the  ladder  of  hard  work.  He  has  parked  himself 
on  his  own  gasolene.  Fear  if  not  love  has  been  his 
only  ally.  The  old  families,  he  knew,  did  not  yearn 
to  be  disembowelled.  This  he  set  out  to  do.  He 
dreamed  of  a  bank  balance.  He  was  never  an  op- 
timist. His  editorial  columns  never  included  such 
constructive  cheer  as  this.  All  honor  to  John 
Graham  of  Whitinsville  whose  hen,  "Polly,"  has 
laid  365  eggs  in  one  year.  He  was  a  destructionist. 
When  he  saw  a  head,  he  hit  it,  for  a  circulation  was 
his  goal  and  he  got  it.  Cynicism  romped  on  his 
pages.  He  knew  where  human  nature  was  weak  and 
here  he  built  his  success.  He  knew  that  the  elite 
would  deprecate  the  tone  of  his  paper  but  that  every 
one  of  them  would  buy  it  daily,  when  it  spread  out 

117 


SMITH'S    BARN 

in  its  columns  the  weaknesses  of  their  neighbors. 
This  he  did.  His  only  test  of  the  standing  of  a  paper 
was  its  gate-receipts  and  measured  by  this  test  it  was 
a  great  success.  When  a  leader  on  the  West  Side 
married,  then  Austin  P.  Cristy  wrote  a  great  satire 
thereon.  Then  the  leaders  rose  early  and  in  their 
not-pajamas,  in  those  days,  impatiently  reached  out 
over  snow-covered  door  mats  early  in  the  morning 
for  their  papers.  These  they  read  before  they 
dressed,  on  cold  mornings.  They  frowned  but  they 
continued  to  paste  The  Paper  into  their  scrap-books 
and  Cristy  smiled,  which  was  an  effort.  Stimulated, 
A.  P.  Cristy  then  sneezed  at  Clark  and  brought  much 
grief  to  Jonas  G.,  but  his  circulation  grew.  The  front 
pages  of  The  Paper  might  have  forgotten  to  record 
some  new  development  in  the  relations  between 
foreign  countries,  but  when  a  strawberry  was  found 
in  a  short  cake  in  a  Central  street  spa  then  the  same 
was  good  for  the  whole  front  page.  Whenever  a 
dance  was  held,  either  in  Colonial  Hall  or  at  Dun- 
garven  Hill,  then  each  participant  was  clearly  and 
carefully  named,  and  all  bought  the  paper,  for  Cristy 
knew  John  Jones  loves  to  see  his  name  dignified  by 
type. 

While  some  may  seek  to  spatter  the  standards 
by  which  Austin  P.  Cristy  sailed  into  port,  this  they 
are  estopped  to  do,  for  he  simply  gave  them  what 
they  wanted.  As  a  legislature  is  as  bad  as  the  people 
which  elects  it,  for  it  is  representative,  so  a  success- 

118 


SMITHES    BARN 

ful  paper  is  as  bad  as  the  people  of  the  town  where  it 
is  sold.  The  responsibility  for  this  record  is  not 
with  A.  P.  Cristy  alone.  It  is  also  with  the  natives, 
not  only  on  the  East  Side  but  also  on  the  West  Side. 
In  fact  he  was  often  heard  to  deprecate  the  high  tone 
of  his  sheet.  He  has  done  much  for  himself.  His 
good  works  he  has  scrupulously,  successfully,  con- 
cealed. His  right  hand  has  small  knowledge  of  the 
habits  of  his  left. 

This  is  an  honest  estimate  of  Austin  P.  Cristy 
which  could  not  have  been  made  safely  when  The 
Paper  was  his.  His  fangs  are  now  gone.  It  would 
have  been  a  fine  aspiration  of  Austin  Pulitzer  Cristy 
had  he  shot  at  the  stars  in  his  hope  for  The  Paper  by 
paraphrasing  the  Harvard  motto : — 

Veritas,  Cristy  et  Ecdesia. 


119 


CHAPTER  11 

Along  the  Potomac 

In  those  days  John  Davis  Long  of  Hingham  was 
Governor  of  Massachusetts.  He  was,  with  his  keen 
wit  touched  a  bit  with  cynicism,  the  best  after  dinner 
speaker  in  the  state.  He  summered  in  Princeton 
and  the  coach  he  used  stood  long  in  Beaman's  stable 
as  the  town's  great  possession.  The  office  and  the 
man  made  a  strong  impression  upon  us  boys.  It 
would  be  a  splendid  thing  for  the  government  if 
such  respect  on  our  part  for  our  public  officers  could 
have  survived  into  later  years  of  maturity.  Public 
officers,  in  an  ill-advised  simulation  of  democracy 
and  in  their  search  for  the  strawberry  mark  which 
locates  the  long  lost  brother,  do  much  to  jeopardize 
a  respect  for  authority.  The  mayor  of  Worcester 
should  never  be  without  a  silk  hat,  a  symbol  of  his 
office  and  its  high  place.  The  late  Mayor  Reed  once 
ordered  a  ward  politician  to  remove  his  hat  in  his 
presence,  in  these  words,  '*No  one  stands  covered 
in  the  presence  of  the  mayor  of  Worcester."  This 
was  a  strong  contribution  to  the  efficiency  of  his 
office.  The  new  member  in  the  Massachusetts 
legislature  looks  with  high  respect  upon  the  Speaker, 
amid  his  splendid  surroundings,  as  a  superman,  to 
learn  later  that  he  is  a  human  being  who  sometimes 

120 


SMITH'S    BARN 

sits  at  home  without  a  coat,  sometimes  even  in  un- 
protected hose.  The  pomp  of  monarchies  is  not 
without  its  effect  in  maintaining  respect  for  authority 
and  law  and  order.  There  should  be  more  and  not 
less  of  such. 

Theodore  C.  Bates  was  in  his  prime  in  the  Eighties. 
He  was  the  power  behind  the  throne.  His  was  the 
only  colored  coachman  in  Worcester.  The  political 
colloquy  this  man  heard  in  driving  his  chief  over 
Worcester  county  would  furnish  well  a  shelf  in  the 
Antiquarian  Association,  which  Clarence  Saunders 
Brigham,  secretary,  should  here  note,  and  the 
child's  history  should  stand  beside  it.  Bates  had 
made  a  competence  in  business  and  gave  himself  up 
to  his  favorite  avocation,  politics.  It  was  his  one 
great  aspiration  to  go  to  Congress  where  he  would 
normally  have  gone  had  not  he  and  William  Whitney 
Rice,  the  incumbent,  a  close  ally,  fallen  apart.  This 
resulted  in  Rice  coming  out  of  Congress  and  Bates 
never  going  in.  The  old  tenth  congressional  district 
became  a  bitter  battle  field  and  for  years  political 
participants  were  assigned  to  one  of  these  two  fac- 
tions. Whether  Bates  or  Rice  was  wrong  on  the 
merits  of  their  controversy,  is  a  question  which  will 
never  be  determined,  and  is  still  debated  by  the  old 
inhabitants.     It  was  a  calamity. 

Tryphosa  Duncan  Bates,  later  Batcheller,  the 
daughter  of  Theodore  C.  Bates,  inherited  the  talents 
of  her  father.     She  was  as  brilliant  a  child  as  the 

121 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Stearns-Davis  children,  but  of  another  school  which 
does  not  turn  away  from  a  Club  sandwich.  This 
praise  of  her  is  a  perilous  proposition.  Female 
readers  may  here  lay  down  Smith's  Barn.  Men  will 
turn  up  their  student  lamps  and  clinch  it  closer. 
She  was  once  brought  to  call  at  the  age  of  five  upon 
an  Elm  street  hostess  by  her  father's  then  intimate, 
William  Whitney  Rice.  When  she  was  asked  whether 
she  would  remain  to  luncheon,  she  turned  to  Mr. 
Rice  and  said: — 

''It  is  for  you,  and  not  for  me  to  say.  Sir.'' 

Even  then  she  thus  showed  much  balance.  The 
children  formed  a  little  club  of  their  own.  She  was 
naturally  made  its  chairman.  She  there  ruled  upon 
points  of  order  with  such  native  ease  as  to  cloud  even 
Speaker  Reed  as  a  parliamentarian  so  that  none  of 
her  tender  associates  dared  appeal  from  the  rulings 
of  the  Chair.  She  was  then  known  as  "Phosa,"  a 
name  which  she  has  carried  to  this  day.  She  has 
passed  from  Worcester  to  European  fields  as  a  colt 
graduates  from  a  half-mile  track  to  the  Grand 
Circuit  and  has  become  the  playmate  of  kings  and 
queens.  She  has  not  however  forgotten  the  humble 
companions  of  her  childhood  days  whom  she  remem- 
bers annually  at  Christmas. 

Congressman  William  Whitney  Rice  was  good 
company.  He  did  a  large  law  practice.  He  was  for 
years  the  legal  adviser  of  George  Crompton,  and  had 

122 


SMITH'S    BARN 

an  office  in  the  old  Post  Office  building  on  Pearl 
street.  He  was  essentially  successful  before  a  jury 
and  was  known  as  the  thirteenth  juryman.  He  was 
connected  by  marriage  with  Philip  Louis  Moen  and 
Senator  George  Frisbie  Hoar.  He  was  a  loyal  son  of 
his  aged  mother,  who  lived  in  Winchendon  and  whom 
he  visited  weekly.  He  had  a  strong  sense  of  wit, 
gloomy  at  times.  He  would  say  to  his  office  asso- 
ciates, "Tomorrow,  not  God  willing,  but  if  he  do 
not  interpose,  I  shall  go  to  see  my  Mother,"  and 
again,  "Tomorrow,  unless  I  am  thrown  into  jail, 
I  shall  go  and  see  my  Mother."  He  naturally  knew 
all  the  great  in  Washington : — Blaine,  McKinley  and 
others,  and  when  he  talked  of  them,  familiarly,  at  his 
home-comings,  the  natives  hung  on  his  lips  and  lost 
the  power  of  speech.  It  was  a  great  cross  to  W.  W. 
Rice,  who  was  known  as  "W.  W.,"  when  the  Bates 
war  retired  him  to  the  resources  of  Bowdoin  street. 
Rice  was  succeeded  in  Congress  by  a  Democrat, 
Hon.   John  E.   Russell,  a  brilliant  man  known  as 

"  The  Shepherd  of  Leicester,'' 

It  ought  to  be  admitted  here  that  there  have  been 
some  brilliant  men  in  the  Democratic  party.  Russell 
was  one.  He  owned  two  sheep.  Had  it  not  been  for 
delicate  health,  Russell  would  have  stopped  no- 
where in  politics.  Cleveland  offered  him  a  place  in 
his  Cabinet.  He  was  at  all  times  an  entertaining 
conversationalist.    It  was  an  intellectual  debauch  to 

123 


SMITH'SBARN 

sit  on  a  settee  in  his  back  yard  and  hear  him  talk. 
He  did  not  always,  it  must  be  admitted,  turn  away 
wrath  with  a  soft  word.  He  used  to  tell  that  when  he 
first  walked  Main  street  in  riding  breeches  and  spurs, 
in  this  way  the  Harry  Worcester  Smith  of  those  days, 
that  the  leading  bankers  and  business  men  nudged 
each  other,  pityingly,  as  they  looked  at  him,  and 
tapped  their  heads,  and  then  Russell  added : — 

"  Now,  their  sons  are  the  leading  members  of  the  Grafton 
Country  Club." 

When  he  heard  of  the  appointment  of  an  official  in  the 
Probate  Court,  he  said,  **Now  death  has  new  terrors." 
In  two  short  years,  when  the  sore  in  the  Republican 
party  had  somewhat  healed,  Russell  was  succeeded  in 
Congress  by  Joseph  H.  Walker,  again  a  Republican. 
Russell  then  retired  to  Leicester,  but,  because  of  his 
fine  spirit,  his  many  admirers  beat  a  path  there  to 
his  door. 

In  the  early  Nineties  came  the  Young  Men's 
Republican  Club  and  its  accoucheurs,  Frank  Roe 
Batchelder,  Charles  Taylor  Tatman  and  Charles  H. 
Wood.  It  was  born  in  the  Day  Building.  The 
members  were  gathered  together  in  an  outer  chamber 
while  the  leaders  labored  on  a  slate  in  a  small  back 
room.  To  alleviate  the  impatience  of  the  herd,  the 
anointed  from  the  sanctuary  relayed  each  other  in 
speeches  which  were  eloquent  on  such  themes  as 
democracy,  and  that  the  ticket  to  be  elected  was  to 

124 


SMITHS    BARN 

be  the  unhobbled,  spontaneous  will  of  the  most  ane- 
mic member.  William  A.  Gile  dubbed  this  little 
band,  "The  Purifiers."  This  gave  them  much 
mental  distress  for  every  one  heard  what  he  said. 
Joseph  H.  Walker  was  a  self-made  man.  His 
critics  sometimes  intimated  that  he  was  somewhat 
self-impaled,  that  he  worshipped  his  creator.  It  is  as 
hard  to  find  a  perfect  man  as  a  perfect  horse.  Walker 
sat  in  Congress  for  ten  years.  He  was  originally  a 
manufacturer  of  shoes,  so  that  he  was  not  away  from 
home  with  the  heelers,  political.  He  largely  educated 
himself.  He  later  did  a  large  business  in  tanning 
hides,  centred  in  Chicago,  and  made  a  fortune.  He 
was  fond  of  horses  and  cattle  which  he  bred  at  his 
stock  farm  in  New  Hampshire  and  which  took  many 
prizes.  He  was  an  indefatigable  worker  and  student, 
and  became  a  very  creditable  member  of  Congress. 
He  was  a  splendid  individualist.  He  was  a  fighter 
through  and  through.  The  word  fear  was  not  in  his 
dictionary.  He  became  chairman  of  the  Committee 
on  Banks  and  Banking  and  wrote  a  banking  bill. 
He  was  a  forceful  platform  debater,  and  once  opened 
a  great  debate  with  George  Fred  Williams  in  Me- 
chanics Hall  in  these  words: — 

"  Workmen  of  Worcester,  do  you  want  rhetoric 
or  do  you  want  bread  f 

He  had  the  high  respect  of  the  people,  for  he  had  a 
great  and  generous  heart  and  was  given  to  good 

125 


SMITH'S    BARN 

works.     His  profile,  his  eye,  his  trenchant  qualities 
earned  for  him  the  soubriquet: — 

"  The  Gray  Eagle  of  Quinsigamond,'' 

In  these  days  when  men  seek  obscurity  and  safety 
in  majorities,  cluttered  up  like  sheep,  individualism, 
where  one  steers  his  course  by  his  own  head  and 
conscience,  dead  to  the  praise  of  friends  and  satire 
of  critics,  is  a  splendid  virtue.  This  was  the  in- 
heritance of  Joseph  Walker,  the  son,  from  his  father. 
Joseph  Walker  outgrew  Worcester  as  have  some 
others  and  migrated  to  Brookline  from  which  he 
became  the  Speaker  of  the  Massachusetts  House, 
after  a  long  service  on  the  floor  of  the  legislature. 
He  then  became  the  Republican  candidate  for 
Governor  and  is  now  a  prominent  figure  in  state 
politics,  known  fancifully  as,  "The  Eaglet  of 
Norfolk."  He  is  one  of  the  too  few  political  laymen 
of  Massachusetts  who  has  definite  political  opinions 
of  his  own.  His  sister,  Agnes  Walker,  is  the  wife 
of  Adams  Davenport  Claflin  of  Newton  Centre.  He 
has  established  himself  there  as  a  public  benefactor 
for  he  has  given  the  people  trollies  from  which  the 
returns  are  not  usurious.  She  is  thus  the  daughter  of 
a  former  Congressman,  the  sister  of  a  former  Speaker 
and  the  daughter-in-law  of  a  former  Governor.  In 
family  trees  she  thus  symbolizes  horticulture  as  a  fine 
art. 

Frank  Roe  Batchelder  was  an  ideal  secretary  to 

126 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Joseph  H.  Walker.  He  was  Vice-Congressman. 
He  was  efficient,  politically,  and  particularly  as  a 
stump  speaker.  He  was  versatile  and  a  frequent 
contributor  to  "Life."  Withered  by  a  political  frost, 
he  then  made  a  fortune  in  business. 

"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way. 
His  wonders  to  perform  J" 

His  son,  Roger  Batchelder,  is  now  on  the  New  York 
Evening  World,  his  business  to  interview  prominent 
people.  Few  men  at  his  age  have  shown  greater 
newspaper  ability.  Even  Robert  Lincoln  O'Brien 
has  given  him  the  entrfe  to  the  Herald,  outside  The 
Mail-Bag,  where  Arthur  Gordon  Webster  is  generally 
confined. 

John  R.  Thayer,  known  only  as  "John  R.,"  and  on 
"the  island"  as  "John  Air,"  a  Democrat  and  a 
democrat,  large  D  and  small  d,  was  elected  to  Con- 
gress because  he  not  only  could  hold  his  party  but 
because  he  had  also  strong  social  qualities  which  made 
him  many  personal  friends.  These  friends  were 
drawn  towards  him  because  his  law  office  was  not 
only  a  law  office  but  a  club-house.  In  one  front 
room  in  the  Walker  Building,  John  R.  Thayer  and 
Arthur  Prentice  Rugg  practiced  law  as  partners. 
One  inside,  dark  cavern  adjoined  this  room  where 
John  Thayer  was  reluctantly  led  at  times  by  those 
of  his  clients  who  looked  for  a  suggestion  of  secrecy. 
There  was  no  better  criminal  lawyer  in  the  town* 

127 


SMITHES    BARN 

No  one  told  a  better  story.  He  gave  a  State  senator, 
aptly,  the  name,  ''The  Walrus,''  because  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  wiggled  his  way  down  street 
with  his  arms.  When  a  client  did  not  sit  by  his  desk, 
a  playmate  sat  there  and  repartee  romped.  Close 
by  sat  Arthur  Rugg,  always  working.  Here  Rugg 
developed  a  power  of  concentration  which  nothing 
could  shake,  amid  distractions  unexcelled.  This 
later  put  him  on  the  Supreme  Bench.  Con- 
centration is  defined  by  Webster  to  be  the  ability  to 
work  while  John  R.  Thayer  talked. 

He  was  a  very  facile  stump  speaker.  In  one  of  his 
campaigns  for  Congress,  George  F.  Hoar,  who 
stumped  against  him,  asked  the  voters  of  South- 
bridge,  "Do  you  want  for  your  congressman  a 
statesman  or  a  fox-hunter  .f^"  The  next  evening  on 
the  same  platform,  John  Thayer  asserted  that  he  had 
come  out  to  answer  that  question  of  the  Honorable 
Senator,  which  he  did  in  this  way: — 

"  When  the  people  of  this  district  can  get  it,  they'll  take 
both  rather  than  neither.'' 

No  cleverer  turn  was  ever  made  upon  the  stump. 
It  made  him  many  votes  and  did  much  to  win  him 
the  election.  John  Thayer  was  fonder  of  nothing 
more  than  of  fox-hunting.  He  thus  became  known 
intimately  all  over  the  district.  It  added  much  to  his 
political  strength.  He  hunted  with  all  the  old  time 
sportsmen,    among    whom    were    Elisha    Knowles, 

1^8 


SMITH'S     BARN 

and  Salem  D.  Charles  whose  house  at  Princeton  was 
much  sought  by  those  who  loved  a  good  story  and 
the  sport.  John  Mowry  Thayer  is  much  like  his 
father  except  that  when  he  has  counted  some  of  his 
election  returns  he  has  missed  that  gun  and  dog  of 
his  father.  This  is  no  small  endorsement  of  John 
Mowry  Thayer.  Hence,  he  should  thus  make  this 
child's  history  a  text-book  in  his  coming  cam- 
paigns. 

These  are  but  some  of  the  men  who  have  rep- 
resented, first  the  tenth  and  now  the  fourth  con- 
gressional district.  It  is  praise,  literally  safe  how- 
ever, that  none  of  them  has  filled  more  completely 
this  chair  than  the  present  incumbent,  Samuel 
Ellsworth  Winslow,  one  of  the  five  leaders  of  the 
House,  of  whom  other  pages  sing.  In  him  the 
District  may  well  say: — 

"La  Follette  we  are  here'' 


129 


CHAPTER  12 

Stars,  Gold  and  Silver 

The  same  boys  of  those  days  now  sit  in  communion 
in  the  Worcester  Club,  a  clearing  house  for  their 
joys  and  sorrows.  There,  one  evening,  one  of  its 
most  assertive  members  laid  down  the  proposition, 
that  General  Custer  was  killed  by  the  Indians  by  his 
own  negligence.  An  old  gentleman  who  had  sat 
unnoticed  in  the  corner  behind  his  newspaper  then 
ventured  modestly  to  say,  "I  think  you  are  wrong. 
Sir."  **No,"  continued  the  assertive  one,  "I  have 
made  a  study  of  his  campaign  and  of  the  newspapers 
and  histories  of  the  day  and  what  I  say  stands." 
"You  may  be  right,  you  may  be  wrong,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman,  "but  I  was  in  that  fight  myself. 
My  name  is  Mills."  It  appeared  that  the  speaker 
was  General  Mills,  an  associate  of  Custer's  and  the 
founder  of  the  Mills  Cartridge  Belt  Company,  which 
William  Lindsey  and  Frank  Roe  Batchelder  brought 
to  its  greatest  success.  William  Lindsey,  who  lived 
in  Boston,  made  a  fortune  in  cartridge  belts  and  lost 
a  daughter  on  the  Lusitania.  Strangely,  the  war 
brought  him  business  success  and  family  sorrow. 
He  also  made  his  mark  in  the  world  of  letters.  Few 
men  have  shown  his  versatility. 

130 


SMITH'S     BARN 

It  has  been  said: — '^  Death  loves  a  shining 
mark.''      The    Worcester   Club   has   learned 
that  this  was  wisely  said.    On  its  walls  hang 
the  gold  starred  "photographs  of  Howard  Wal- 
ter   Beal,    Brayton   Nichols,  Willard  Smith 
and  Horace  Wyman,  four  men  lost  in  the  ser- 
vice and  its  best,    Howard  Beal  was  a  skilful 
surgeon.     Handsome  and  of  fine  physique, 
with  a  smile  which  drew,  no  one  held  the  great 
war  more  close  to  his  heart  than  he.    Brayton 
Nichols     and    Horace     Wyman,    with    the 
whole  of  their  lives  before  them,  with  every  ad- 
vantage to  make  success,  gave  all  they  had. 
Of  Willard  Smith,  elsewhere. 
It  is  written  of  the  woman  who  swept  the  house 
for  the  piece  of  silver  which  was  lost.    In  the  Wor- 
cester  Club,   which   should   be   further   swept,   are 
other  pieces  of  silver.    Here  is  George  Massa  Bassett, 
of    versatile   excellence  in  business  and  avocations. 
When  he  puts  his  hand  to  the  plough,  he  does  not  look 
back,  although  many  are  behind  him.     An  artist 
with  the  piano,  he  does  not  forget  a  tune  and  even 
the  crude  are  happy.     Then  there  is  Luke  Cant  well 
Doyle    with    a    personality    unexcelled    which    has 
brought  him  much.     Again,  there  was  Leonard  P. 
Kinnicutt,    an   accomplished  chemist  who  tramped 
the  roads  and  woods  about  Worcester,  a  disciple  of 
Thoreau,  who  was  the  intimate,  intelligent  and  loyal 
friend  of  every  caterpillar  and  grasshopper  upon  the 

131 


SMITH'S    BARN 

slopes  of  Asnebumskit;  and  a  brother,  Lincoln  New- 
ton Kinnicutt,  who  having  acquired  a  competency, 
gave  himself  up  with  great  fidelity  to  The  Art  Muse- 
um, his  farm,  The  Bohemian  Club  and  the  study  of 
Indian  names.  There  is  William  S.  B.  Hopkins,  the 
second  of  a  good  name,  faithful  to  each  of  his  trusts; 
Charles  Lemuel  Nichols,  for  years  a  great  and  loyal 
physician,  who  has  earned  the  right  to  gratify  a  taste 
for  books  in  a  well  equipped  library,  with  binds  of 
high  order;  Charles  H.  Banister,  efficient  in  business, 
always  friendly,  who  shows  a  fine  literary  discrimina- 
tion in  his  distribution  of  this  child's  history;  John 
Calvin  Stewart,  one  of  four  brothers  who  have  built 
up  a  successful  business  on  an  honest  name,  he  has 
a  mouth  and  ear  keenly  tuned  for  humor;  Francis 
Henshaw  Dewey,  tireless,  who  has  evolved  trans- 
portation out  of  the  horse-car  into  traction  and  who 
might  with  much  propriety  have  named  a  son, 
'Oscar,  and  daughter,  Caroline ;  Herbert  Parker  of  the 
county  of  Worcester,  who  talks  a  language  of  his  own, 
a  constellation,  great  enough  to  lead  the  electorate  of 
the  State  to  forget  that  he  came  out  of  Worcester 
and  make  him  Attorney- General  of  the  Common- 
wealth; George  Sumner  Barton,  known  as  "Jig," 
and  Rockwood  Hoar  Bullock,  late  leaders  of  the 
J-Doree,  retired  voluntarily,  busy  blenders,  no  one 
has  topped  them  at  Cambridge  and  Boston  in 
social  distinctions;  William  Goodwin  Ludlow,  en- 
dearingly termed  "Luddie,"  a  bon-vivant,  who  has 

132 


SMITH'S     BARN 

but  to  meet  men  to  make  them  friends,  in  integrity 
an  impeccable  fortress,  who  holds  the  plate  on  a 
rich  broad  aisle,  inviolate,  though  the  boy  choir 
suggestively  sings  the  anthem: — "The  Lord  Is 
Mindful  of  His  Own";  George  Ichabod  Rockwood, 
who  invented  a  fire-sprinkler  and  so  graduated  into  a 
Rolls-Royce  runabout  and  thus,  because  of  his  fire- 
sprinkler,  has  made  the  thought  of  life  after  death 
more  endurable  for  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town;  William  Hamilton  Coe,  a  philosopher,  widely 
read;  Alfred  E.  P.  Rockwell,  an  individualist,  who 
belongs  among  the  picturesque,  who  has  laid  his  skill 
and  patience  at  the  feet  of  the  neurotic,  the  aristo- 
crat among  invalids;  and  Philip  Jacob  Gentner,  who 
wisely  laments  materialism  and  strives  for  a  civiliza- 
tion where  rewards  are  commensurate  with  the  best 
service  for  humanity  and  against  the  supremacy  of 
an  autocracy  of  merely  money. 

It  may  be  said  with  much  reason  that  had  the 
Pilgrims  not  landed  on  Plymouth  Rock  but  Pilgrim 
Rock  landed  on  the  Pilgrims,  this  child's  history 
would  not  have  been  written.  But  Pilgrim  Rock 
did  not  land  on  the  Pilgrims,  hence  these  memories. 
This  responsibility  assumed,  the  cup  must  be  drunk 
to  the  dregs.  Hence,  no  men  within  the  scope  of 
this  child's  history,  saving  William  Scofield,  and 
not  measured  by  the  material  test  of  money  in  an 
age  cluttered  up  with  the  rich,  have  done  more  than 
these   three,    in    order;   first,    Arthur   Rugg   in   his 

133 


SMITH'S    BARN 

appointment  as  Chief  Justice;  Alfred  Aiken  in  his 
election  to  the  head  of  the  Shawmut  Bank;  and 
George  Hoar  in  his  election  to  the  United  States 
senate,  Hence,  further,  Worcester  should  institute 
a  Gallery  of  the  Immortals.  Whatever  controversy, 
excerpts  or  amendments  these  nominations  may 
provoke  among  the  people  of  the  burg,  this  work 
should  now  be  assumed  in  Smith's  Barn. 

The  path  is  blazed  here  with  seven  names,  dis- 
creetly in  alphabetical  order. 

Alfred  Lawrence  Aiken,  whom  long,  hard,  in- 
telligent work  made  the  president  of  the  second 
largest  bank  in  New  England.  George  Bancroft, 
historian,  who  wrote  in  Worcester  the  first  great 
history,  as  this  is,  perhaps,  the  last.  Strong  praise. 
George  Frisbie  Hoar,  a  senator  of  the  United  States 
and  its  greatest  scholar,  who  came  out  of  a  long 
political  service  as  emaciated  financially  as  when  he 
went  in.  Daniel  Merriman,  a  great  preacher,  who 
sought  to  develop  religion  and  art  among  a  race  of 
manufacturers.  Arthur  Prentice  Rugg,  made  Chief 
Justice  of  the  Commonwealth  when  a  young  man, 
who  ever  seeks  to  impress  upon  the  people  a  fine 
respect  for  the  dignity  of  his  court  as  vital  to  true 
liberty.  William  Bacon  Scofield,  who  lights  up  dark 
places  with  the  sunlight  of  his  wit  and  leads  the 
people  out  of  the  valleys  onto  high  mountains. 
Matthew  John  Whittall,  who  showed  that  one  could 
lead  his  country  with  his  product  and  make  himself 

134 


SMITHS    BARN 

materially  rich,  and  more  than  this,  hold  fast  to  reli- 
gion, ideals  and  friends.  Other  names,  including 
that  of  Austin  P.  Cristy  have  been  presented  for 
consideration  for  this  Gallery  of  the  Immortals,  not 
having  qualified — as  yet. 

On  the  base  of  the  Charles  Martin  Thayer  statue 
of  George  Frisbie  Hoar  upon  the  Common  are  written 
words  of  optimism.  Hoar  was  a  pioneer  before  even 
Emil  Coue.  For  it  was  George  Frisbie  Hoar  who 
first  said  of  his  country,  in  substance: — 

''Day  by  day,  in  every  way. 
It  is  getting  better  and  better ^ 

Under  the  leadership  of  these  Seven  Immortals 
and  the  stimulus  of  this  creed,  Worcester  ought  to 
sail  on  into  the  high  seas  of  the  future  with  every 
hope  of  making  port  with  God. 


135 


CHAPTER  14 
The  Weak  Links  of  the  Seven  Immortals 


136 


CHAPTER  15 

The  Smith  Salon 

In  its  atmosphere,  the  Smith  salon  was  an  oasis 
as  a  society  centre.     There  should  be  more  such. 

It  has  been  reasonably  said  that  among  the 
politicians  ignoble  passions  stalk;  envy,  hatred, 
malice  and  all  uncharitableness.  Not  there  alone 
however  ambition  sits  in  disappointment  among  the 
rocks  and  brambles.  In  society,  where  dinner  jackets 
are  the  working  uniform  and  lapis  lazuli  dangles, 
there  also  is  found  a  high  rival  in  these  disturbing 
emotions.  Here,  while  individuality  may  be  a 
mighty  factor  for  success;  face,  figure,  family,  fashion, 
form  and  fortune,  six  big  Fs,  are  auxiliaries  not  to  be 
forgotten.  In  social  distinctions  few  suffer  like  the 
sensitive  young.  The  debutante  of  eighteen,  whose 
feet  are  not  firm  fixed  and  forgetful  of  her  manner 
and  speech,  is  often  rude  not  through  malevolence, 
but,  diffident  and  fearful,  she  thus  seeks  to  stand  off 
easiest  confusion.  She  who  sits  out  dance  after  dance 
alone  is  often  successfully  worked  upon  by  an  affec- 
tionate and  sympathetic  mother,  told  that  only  the 
flippant  appeal  to  the  men  of  today,  hence  she  is  hurt 
and  feels  that  she  is  slipping  when  at  times  called  out 
of  seclusion  into  the  centre  of  the  floor.  She  who  is 
long  on  family  and  short  on  fortune,  to  whom  a 

137 


SMITH'S    BARN 

plumber's  kit  and  bankruptcy  are  synonymous,  who 
sits  on  haircloth,  when  asked  if  she  knows  the  Graham 
girls,  who  languish  solvent  in  seals  in  a  soft  purring 
aristocratic  Packard  motor,  hesitates  and  then 
says: — No,  not  well.  Mother  thinks  they're  rather 
flashy.  These  are  but  some  of  the  mental  conflicts. 
Talk  not  of  politics.  The  path  towards  the  United 
State  Senate  is  a  macadam  road,  shaded  by  over- 
hanging oaks,  when  set  off  against  the  rough  way 
walked  by  those  in  fine  slippers  who  shape  their 
course  for  the  head  of  the  Cotillion.  These  are  mere 
philosophical  observations.     Enough. 

This  child's  history  of  the  West  Side  stops  where 
it  began,  at  what  is  now  eloquently  named  Willard 
Smith  Square.  Change  back  these  forty  years  to 
what  they  were,  thou  powerful  enchanter  Time,  and 
these  chariots,  magnificent  motors,  were  then  tum- 
brils, buggies  drawn  by  horses;  these  fortunes  were 
then  simple  competences;  men  now  rich  then  stood 
in  bread  lines;  these  now  many  great  were  then  few; 
these  now  great  landed  estates  were  then  plain 
wooden  houses  on  land  measured  by  square  feet; 
now  ambition  and  elaboration  have  become  dicta- 
tors; then  there  was  modesty  and  simplicity;  man 
now  lives  intensely  then  quietly;  men  and  women 
now  in  the  touching  helplessness  of  age  were  then 
in  virile  childhood;  and  progress  has  not  brought 
more  of  peace  and  happiness. 

Willard    Smith   was   the   grandson   of   Josephine 

138 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Caroline  Smith,  the  head  figure  of  these  memories. 
He  was  the  son  of  Frank  Bulkeley  Smith.  Frank 
Bulkeley  Smith  was  another  dynamo  Hke  Goulding. 
His  capacity  was  recognized  by  WiUiam  Swinton 
Bennett  Hopkins  when  he  made  him  a  law  partner; 
by  Horatio  Nelson  Slater  when  he  made  him  a 
trustee  under  his  will;  and  by  Robert  Winsor  when 
he  made  him  treasurer  of  the  New  England  Cotton 
Yarn  Company.  He  drove  straight  at  his  mark  and 
had  small  respect  for  the  gentle  art  of  diplomacy. 
It  was  his  greatest  virtue,  and  a  scarce  virtue,  that 
he  recognized  the  right  of  others  to  emulate  his  same 
style.  He  in  his  turn  could  listen  to  straight  speech. 
But  in  his  own  house,  he  was  as  gentle  and  affection- 
ate as  a  woman. 

Willard  Smith,  in  the  few  short  years  in 
Boston  which  were  his,  showed  that  he  had 
inherited  the  business  acumen  of  his  father. 
In  a  winning  personality,  he  had  a  great 
business  and  social  asset.  His  mother  was 
Nancy  Earle  Smith,  the  descendant  of  a  long 
line  of  Quakers,  the  Earle  Family.  In  the 
heart  of  Willard  Smith  there  was  no  guile, 
the  inheritance  which  he  took  from  his  mother. 
He  went  into  the  Great  War.  He  gave  all  that 
he  had.  He  never  came  home.  He  lies  in 
France.  A  fine  type  in  substance  and  form, 
sound  of  head,  heart  and  body,  handsome, 
wholesome,  modest  and  lovable,   there  never 

139 


SMITH'S    BARN 

was  a  better  Smith  or  a  better  boy.     The  tree 
lies  where  it  has  fallen  but  his  spirit  is  over 
the  city  where  he  was  born  and  lived,  an  in- 
spiration. 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith  was  true  to  the  end  to  her 
code: — '*Keep  on  going."    In  her  last  days  she  was 
never  happier  than  when  motoring,  and  then  never 
happier  than  when  all  the  cylinders  were  thrown  in 
and  the  speedometer  threatened  with  a  hot  box.    In 
the  Eighties  and  Nineties,  with  which  these  memories 
are  more  particularly  concerned,  when  the  mercury 
dropped  and  the  monkey  and  goat  and  other  in- 
habitants of  Smith's  barn  congealed  with  the  cold 
and  the   barn   door  rolled  back,  hard,  her  spirits 
never  drooped  and  she  threw  her  splendid  energies 
into  her  rink  and  her  salon. 

The  Smith  rink  lay  around  a  little  summer  house, 
on  what  by  courtesy  might  be  called  a  lawn,  which 
in  the  summer  was  well  cut  up  with  foot  prints, 
just  east  of  what  is  now  34  Elm  street,  where  Arthur 
Woolsey  Ewell  now  smokes  a  pipe  after  sunset  in 
contemplation  of  the  ancient  greatness  of  the  Greeks 
and  of  Yale.  This  rink  was  a  thick  mass  of  diverse 
humanity  when  the  ice  was  good.  Here,  small  boys 
struggled  in  their  first  attempts,  or  laid  involuntarily 
on  their  backs;  young  girls  were  gently  led  about  by 
their  timid  admirers;  and  then  there  was  hockey  by 
the  big  boys  when  stick  and  puck  jeopardized  the 
safety  of  the  small.    On  the  piazza  nearby,  molasses 

140 


SMITH'S     BARN 

candy  steamed  hot  for  the  inside  body,  while  the 
adjoining  kitchen  was  filled  with  those  who  set  out 
to  thaw  out  hands  and  feet.  At  the  close  of  the  day, 
the  rink  was  swept  off  by  the  boys  as  a  part  of  their 
trade,  when  James  Hall  again  went  on  duty  with 
hose  to  perfect  the  surface. 

The  salon  of  Josephine  Caroline  Smith  was  the 
centre  of  the  social  activity  of  the  town.  Those  were 
the  days  when  civilization  was  in  process  on  the 
West  Side,  when  a  gentleman  in  the  metal  line, 
having  been  invited  to  a  great  reception,  regretted 
his  inability  to  appear: — "For  having  to  take  stock." 
Then  came  a  needed  antidote,  Richard  Ward  Greene, 
known  as  "Dick  Greene."  He  was  another  who 
dropped  in  from  time  to  time  to  the  Smith  salon.  He 
married  the  daughter  of  John  Davis  Washburn. 
He  liked  people.  People  liked  him.  Hence,  no  one 
wrote  any  richer  insurance  policies  than  he.  He 
had  other  distinctions.  He  was  the  first  man  in 
Worcester  to  seize  the  tone  of  a  name  written  in 
full;  and  wore  what  in  those  days  was  properly 
described  as  "tight  pants,"  the  first  seen  on  our 
streets.  They  were  actually  made  for  him  only. 
When  our  mothers  bought  us  clothes,  a  salesman  at 
Ware  and  Pratt's  went  up  on  a  high  ladder  for  them. 
When  he  first  walked  up  Elm  street,  the  boys 
gathered  and  asked : — 

''Who  is  her 
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SMITH'S    BARN 

The  answer  hushed  all: — "Richard  Ward  Greene." 
He  did  not  ruffle  the  refined  with  the  words,  "Let 
me  make  you  acquainted,"  or  again,  "Pleased  to 
meet  you."  In  a  country  town,  where  memories 
were  short,  when  functions  were  scarce  and  one 
impended,  when  others  were  feverishly  telephoning 
about: — 

''What  shall  we  wear,'^ 

Richard  Ward  Greene,  with  peace  of  mind  and 
confidence,  clothed  himself  in  the  right  attire  without 
consulting  a  book  on  etiquette. 

Charles  Francis  Aldrich  was  often  in  the  Smith 
salon,  no  one  more  so.  He  had  been  secretary 
to  George  Frisbie  Hoar.  He  was  long  the  clerk  of  the 
Bastile  Bank  at  the  corner  of  Foster  street.  Here 
was  originally  planted  an  Aiken  bank  seed  which 
grew  with  the  quality  of  a  rose  but  with  the  splendid 
vigor  of  a  weed.  Aldrich  was  unique  in  two  respects 
in  Worcester.  He  was  a  Yale  man,  a  responsibility 
which  was  later  shared  by  Alfred  Lawrence  Aiken, 
Fred  Baker  and  Arthur  Ewell.  What  the  delegation 
lacked  in  quantity,  it  showed  in  quality.  Second, 
he  had  been  coxswain  of  Bob  Cook's  great  Yale 
crew.  Thus  the  small  boys  looked  at  him  hard. 
No  one  was  more  kindly  or  considerate  of  others 
than  Charles  F.  Aldrich.  In  later  years,  crippled 
with  rheumatism,  he  was  patient  and  cheerful  to 
the  end.     His  disabilities,  he  fought  hard,  but  many 

142 


SMITH'S    BARN 

forget,  that  some  who  lose  fight  harder  than  many 
who  fight  and  win.  It  is  enough  to  say  of  him  that 
he  was  a  gentleman.  George  Spring  Taft  was  also 
secretary  to  Mr.  Hoar.  He  graduated  from  the 
Worcester  High  School  in  1878  and  then  from  Brown 
in  1882.  He  was  a  student  of  the  highest  order.  He 
has  a  brilliant  mind,  one  of  the  few  lawyers  who 
delight  to  discuss  their  cases  after  the  day's  work  is 
done.  His  great  Achilles  tendon  is  that  he  is  more 
prone  to  rest  his  feet  upon  his  office  desk,  when  he 
thinks  best,  than  upon  the  floor.  Ernest  L.  Thayer 
was  a  classmate  of  William  Randolph  Hearst  at 
Harvard.  Mrs.  Hearst  once  asked  a  clergyman,  Dr. 
William  R.  Huntington,  how  her  boy  could  be  most 
useful  to  civilization  and  he  replied : — 

"Buy  him  a  newspaper.'' 

This  she  did.  Civilization  still  patiently  waits. 
Hearst  recognized  Thayer's  genius  and  put  him  to 
work  on  The  Chicago  Examiner.  When  Ernest 
Thayer  wrote  ''Casey  at  the  bat,"  Worcester  be- 
came known  west  of  Springfield.  Charles  Ranlet, 
above  all  others,  the  girls  sought,  so  far  as  they 
modestly  could.  He  kept  his  head  however  and  found 
a  wife  on  the  Smith  premises,  the  only  living  daugh- 
ter, Josephine  Lord  Smith.  No  young  woman  in  the 
town  received  more  attention  than  she.  A  sister, 
Caroline,  had  died  in  1873  at  the  age  of  six.  Ranlet 
was  a  good  student  at  Harvard  and  had  a  good 

143 


SMITH'S    BARN 

business  position  in  the  town.  He  lived  at  the  Club 
and  the  girls  lost  the  power  of  speech.  He  had  a 
quiet  charm  of  manner  which  made  him  welcome 
everywhere. 

Others  were  George  Bentley  Witter,  a  kinsman, 
and  Charles  Sumner  Barton.  In  the  1896  political 
gold  parade,  Witter  and  Barton  led  the  men  from 
the  Rice,  Barton  and  Fales  Company.  With  canes, 
boutonieres  and  what  was  then  known  as  Prince 
Albert  coats,  they  were  superb  as  they  strutted  at 
the  head  of  their  men,  a  tonic  for  the  neuresthenic. 
As  set  off  against  their  toilets,  even  the  lilies  of  the 
valley  looked  like  street  gamins.  No  one  who  saw 
them  as  they  marched  up  Elm  street  will  forget 
that  spectacle.  Witter  for  years  was  known  for  his 
horses  and  his  stable.  In  conformation  and  in 
action  in  them  there  was  nothing  to  disturb  the  eye, 
and  when  a  horse  came  to  need  a  boot  it  was  to 
Witter  a  cross  like  a  crippled  child  and  there  was  an 
empty  stall  and  a  successor,  for  the  legs  of  his  horses 
were  leatherless.  Each  horse  had  his  own  private 
tooth  brush,  box  and  bath  and  even  the  most  fastid- 
ious epicure  would  not  shrink  from  breakfast  on 
that  stable  floor.  George  Witter  has  as  fine  a  com- 
panionability  and  sense  of  wit  as  can  be  found  in  the 
town,  that  is  when  he  cares  to  exercise  it,  and  once 
an  arbiter  in  a  labor  strike,  he  was  heard  to  observe 
with  liberality: — 

''Anyone  can  agree  with  me  who  makes  an  honest  effort,'' 

144 


SMITH'S    BARN 

Of  one  young  man  who  was  seeking  to  qualify 
for  her  salon,  simply  by  the  power  of  adulation, 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith  said : — 

''He  wont  get  far,  purring  around  me,'' 

There  was  one  work  of  art,  then  in  the  salon  of 
Josephine  Caroline  Smith  and  now  at  9  Linden 
street,  which  should  ultimately  go  to  The  Art 
Museum  under  the  testamentary  devise  of  Chet- 
wood  or  Mary  Chapin  Smith,  his  wife,  in  whom  the 
title  now  is.  She  has  shown  much  literary  skill  al- 
though our  mothers  expected  us  to  read  rather  the 
books  from  the  Sunday  school  library.  This  photo- 
graph is  of  Chetwood,  in  1876  at  the  tender  age  of 
three,  holding  a  small  bag  and  about  to  take  a  journey 
to  meet  his  father  who  was  returning  from  Europe. 
It  was  taken  by  Claflin,  the  Schervee  of  those  days, 
in  his  studio  where  now  The  Bohemian  Club  is.  Note, 
Gentle  Reader,  from  the  stand  behind  those  little 
feet,  that  the  childish  head  is  held  in  chancery  from 
behind  by  metal  prongs  pursuant  to  the  custom  of 
the  times  and  it  is  apparent  from  the  visage  that 
Chettie  is  far  from  his  toys.  It  is  as  irrisistible  a 
picture  of  a  child  as  ever  perpetuated  itself  upon 
the  plate  of  a  photographer.  Mother,  holding  that 
fair-haired  infant  of  yours,  if  you  question  this  strong 
statement,  push  the  button  by  the  door  a  short  walk 
down  Linden  street  on  the  right  from  Elm  street,  and 
look  upon  that  picture,  though  at  the  risk  of  throwing 

145 


SMITH'S    BARN 

away  that  little  innocent  of  your  own  whom  you  now 
ignorantly  worship. 

In  holding  the  last  words  of  these  memories  up 
to  a  climax,  mention  is  now  reserved  here  for  Charles 
Sumner  Barton.  He  inherited  a  business  but  he 
remained  a  democrat.  He  had  the  same  smile  for 
the  small  as  the  great  and  his  workingmen  looked 
upon  him  as  one  of  their  own.  He  never  said  an 
unkind  word  of  anyone,  nor  was  he  a  willing  listener 
to  such  words  by  others.  He  was  made  of  sheet 
iron.  For  years  at  the  Club  until  midnight,  he  was 
out  on  the  road  selling  the  product  of  his  factories 
at  day  break.  A  stranger  to  anything  but  virile 
health  the  storm  of  wretched  invalidism  struck  him 
with  all  its  power.  In  him  there  was  neither  waver 
nor  whimper.  The  same  old  Charlie  Barton,  so 
far  as  lay  in  his  power,  he  walked  the  streets  of 
Worcester  with  head  erect,  although  he  knew  there 
walked  behind  him  a  grim  conquerer  who  within  a 
year  would  lay  him  in  the  dust.  Ask  me  what  a  man 
is  and  I  ask  you  what  he  is  at  home.  That  is  the 
great  test.  Most  men  wilt  inside  their  own  thresh- 
olds. Here  they  lay  aside  their  armor  and  are 
themselves.  Here  neither  his  physician  nor  his  nurse 
knew  whether  he  was  in  pain.  This  is  a  strong  test. 
It  has  been  well  said  that  not  men  and  women  walk 
the  streets  but  heroes  and  heroines.  The  heroes 
of  life  are  not  those  only  of  the  steeplechase  and 

146 


SMITH'S    BARN 

battlefield  but  first  they  who  make  their  fight  alone 
without  the  spur  of  comrade  sufferers,  without  recog- 
nition and  without  the  stimulation  of  crowds  and 
cheers,  khaki  and  martial  music.  To  such  should 
stand  a  monument,  to  that  great  army  of  the  heroic, 
too  often  forgotten  by  their  fellow  men  but  ever  to  be 
remembered  by  their  God.  Of  such  was  Charles 
Barton.  When  the  news  came  to  him  in  his  dark 
days  that  one  of  his  own  friends  had  taken  his  life, 
he  said,  quietly,  with  eyes  fixed  into  the  future: — 

*'/  never  go  where  I  am  not  asked.'' 

Charles  Sumner  Barton  worked  hard,  he  played 
hard.  Above  all,  he  knew  how  to  die.  And  no 
one  loved  life  more.  It  was  a  tragedy,  for  in  him 
death  and  splendid  vitaHty  were  set  off  in  outline 
never  more  sharp.  He  died  as  he  lived,  lion-hearted, 
a  man. 

''My  lifted  eye,  without  a  tear. 
The  gathering  storms  shall  see; 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  know  no  fear; 
That  heart  will  rest  on  Thee,'' 


The  End. 


147 


